When the Blue of the Night
by sarramaks
Summary: The team are in danger as one of their own is attacked. To find the UnSub, they must profile themselves as victims, as well as maintaining a sense of normality as they attempt to find a killer preying on the most vulnerable. Complete!
1. Recap

_This is just a brief recap of relevant events so anyone who didn't read Humanity can catch up._

_I don't expect reviews for this – you've already read it, but just to refresh your memories..._

_Thank you to **Chiroho** for the beta!_

_A/N - I don't own Criminal Minds - don't sue!_

**_Previously on Criminal Minds..._**

**When the Blue of the Night**

"Beware of the door with too many keys."

**- Portuguese Proverb**

**Prologue**

"Penelope," Will said, a note in his voice making her stand up, Henry now quite content to play with the pink and silver hair accessory he had plucked from Garcia's head. "I need you to look at something."

She felt concern and apprehension rise inside her chest, and gestured for him to enter her room, swiftly clicking a couple of keys to comply with the secrecy contract she'd signed.

"What is it? Is everything okay? Have you heard from JJ?" The questions poured out rapidly, her mind now in overdrive.

Will sat down on one of the office chairs, his expression confused. "I received a letter," he said, opening the baby bag hanging on the back of Henry's stroller. "I haven't told JJ about it because she and the team are busy enough right now, and it's probably nothing, but I wanted your opinion." He handed her an envelope that had been torn open roughly.

Garcia looked at the front and noted that Will was the addressee. She pulled out paper that was standard, used in offices throughout the state, and read what had been printed on it. She raised a hand to her mouth and subdued a slight cry as its meaning became clear.

"I think it's an empty threat, Pen, and it's the first one that's been sent," Will said. "It came through the mail yesterday. I just wondered if anything had been sent to the rest of the team."

Shaking her head, and controlling the slight shake in her hand, she slipped the letter onto the scanner and uploaded it onto her system. "Have you told anyone about this?" she said, rather hurriedly.

"No. I read it last night when I got home from being out all day with Henry. It seems like a joke, rather than a serious threat," he said. "But I still couldn't sleep. I haven't said anything to JJ, Pen. She's exhausted, and this would only cause her to worry."

Garcia thought quickly. Letters like this weren't uncommon. Unfortunately, psychos had fans; fans who wanted someone to blame for their perceived injustice, and would therefore send empty threats to the people that had helped put their 'hero' away. But all threats were taken seriously and looked into, and she would pass this on to the relevant team, just as she had seen JJ do, but without worrying her team. They needed to focus. When they returned home, that would be when they should know, unless Strauss deemed otherwise. "I'm going to give this to Agent Mansfield," Garcia said, feeling more assured than she had done a few seconds ago. "He looks into threats like these. I'll ask him to have someone check on everyone's apartment, make sure that things are as they should be, and you just keep yourself and this little man safe."

Will nodded. "Thanks, Pen," he said. "Are you going to tell JJ?"

She tipped her head to one side. "Maybe," she said. "I'll see what Agent Mansfield says." Feeling better, she crouched back down onto Henry's level and began to indulge herself in his giggles, managing to record one burst of laughter so she could play it back whenever she needed reassurance that there was still love in the world.

* * *

Rossi squinted at the screen. "Is that Agent Mansfield?" He wondered if another trip to the optician was in order; he was convinced he had an astigmatism.

"No, sir. Why would Agent Mansfield be in my office?" Garcia said, clearly lying. He needed to give her lessons in the art.

"Well, if you should see him, remind him he owes me a bottle of Laphroaig," he looked accusingly at the screen before flicking it off, knowing that if Garcia came up with anything else, she'd call him, a form of communication he much preferred.

* * *

"Hi, my name's Penny. How are you this evening?"

There was deep breathing on the other end of the line, and Penelope Garcia looked to the heavens and prayed that it wouldn't be another one of those. She was four calls into what was going to be a long shift, and as much as she loved what she did and how she could help the families of the victims, today had already been a difficult day.

"I'm okay, Penny. How are you?" It was a man's voice and it sounded assured and confident, which was unusual given what the helpline was for.

"I'm fine," she said, trying to sound reassuring. Maybe the man was just putting on a brave face. She'd had a few that started out confident and collapsed as the conversation progressed. "Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"

"There are plenty of things, Penny," he said. "But I'd like to start with you. Are you really fine?"

A shudder went through her and she glanced at her supervisor, Amy, who was preoccupied with another call. She couldn't hang up. Sometimes people needed to know more about who they were talking to before they felt confident to discuss their anxieties. "Well, it's been a long day and a difficult one, but it makes me feel better knowing that maybe by the end of it I might have been able to help someone."

"That's nice, Penny. Why has your day been difficult? Do you want to talk about it, Penny?" his tone was smooth, but there was a hidden edge to it that sent shivers down her spine.

"I'd rather talk about your day. How's that been?" she said, moving the focus of the conversation from her. If he continued to be weird, then she would refer him to a male counsellor and terminate the call.

There was what sound like a muted laugh. "It's been good. In fact on a scale of one to ten I'd say it's been a seven, but it's going to get better this evening." This time the laugh was clear and loud. "Much better, in fact. I'm going to be proactive in getting over my grief."

Grief, he'd mentioned a key word. Maybe he was just finding it difficult to connect with her and begin talking. "You know, sir," she said. "Maybe you'd feel more comfortable talking to one of my male colleagues. I'll see if David's available." She heard the nerves enter her own voice and queried their presence.

"You know, Penny, I'd rather talk to you. You see, you're the reason I called tonight. I wanted to speak to you, Penelope. Why aren't you having a Halloween party? You did last year."

She felt the blood drain from her face. He was right. Last year she'd had most of the team over, bar I and Morgan, and a few other friends for pumpkin pie and scary movies. Even Rossi had been there. But it hadn't been a social event, like something that was reported on the internet or mentioned around headquarters. "I'm sorry, Sir, but I'm not comfortable taking this call," she said, following the script word for word. "I'm going to have to terminate it." She pressed a button and heard a dial tone just above the sound of her rapidly beating heart.

Standing up she pulled the headset off, a few tendrils of hair coming loose, and she made her way out of the room, wondering exactly who she should call, given that Agent Mansfield was on holiday and she had been told not to say anything to the team until they returned from Utah.

* * *

Trust is a gamble that few of us can afford not to take. Every time you open a door, answer a call, say hello, you trust the person at the other end. Trust that they will not hurt you, sadden you, or ridicule you. Without trust, we would not survive; human contact is essential, but we must trust the people from whom we receive it.

Agent Spencer Mansfield opened his door to several people on Halloween. He gave trick or treaters candy and a smile, thinking of what his own children were doing that night with their mother in another city. He paid the window cleaner, and let his neighbour in for a coffee and a chat about the youth of today, and then he locked the door when she left and checked his email to make sure that nothing had happened in the few hours since he'd left the office.

When the doorbell rang again just as he was about to get changed for bed, he trusted the familiar face standing outside and let them in, knowing that a crisis was prevailing in his visitor's life, and he didn't want to turn them away. He wasn't like that.

No alarm bells went off in his head as he entered the kitchen to make coffee, because this was someone he _knew_, someone he trusted. Agent Mansfield forgot the statistics that most people were killed by someone they knew, and not a serial killer. We trust the people we choose to know.

And sometimes we place that trust wrongly.

When Agent Mansfield looked up from pouring the coffee he couldn't quite take in the gun with the attached silencer. And as the trigger was pulled and the bullet shimmied through the air to land neatly in his chest, he still couldn't quite believe that this was happening.

You see, trust is something we should place with caution. We should consider to whom it is we are giving our trust; a cheating lover; a gossiping friend; or a colleague whom we never thought would be on a different side to the one we are.

As Agent Mansfield lay there, the door clicking shut as his killer left, he considered who else trusted the man, and wished he had enough breath left in him to warn them.

But they would just have to find out for themselves.

* * *

There was no snow on the ground as JJ left her parked car, and fumbled in her bag for the keys to the new house she and Will had just moved in to. It had a larger garden for Henry to play in when he was older, a guest bedroom, and another, smaller room, for when they decided that Henry needed a brother or a sister. The move was still recent enough for her to get a brief thrill every time she came home.

A light was on upstairs, telling her that Will had waited up. She guessed he would be reading, his preferred pastime, not being a fan of TV unless it was sport that was on. She smiled as the key slid into the lock, looking forward to that first cuddle of Henry, then one from Will after that. She turned the key.

* * *

Rossi opened the mailbox before heading up the driveway. He was expecting another letter from his editor confirming the figure for the next two books, and he was interested to see what was in it. It wasn't the money, it was more to do with what sort of slant they wanted from the next book, what they thought the public was interested in. He was considering taking a sabbatical for three months from the BAU to write it, only coming in for the big cases, as he suspected that his editor was looking for a book that focused on just one killer. An in depth exploration of a single criminal mind.

* * *

The letter was there, as he'd expected, along with a handful of bills, and a delivery note to say that his neighbour had signed for a package. He double checked the house number for the neighbour and breathed a sigh of relief; it had gone to Mrs Hartshed at number twelve. If it had ended up at number sixteen, then he never would have seen the twenty-two year old malt that had been sent from his whisky club.

He pulled his key from his jeans pocket, the security light coming on brightly and almost blinding him, but at least it meant he could insert the key easily. His cell phone sounded as he was about to turn, and he pulled it out, looking at the message. He breathed a long sigh of relief; it was Jolene, texting to say that her sister was now out of hospital. He turned the key.

* * *

Morgan glared at Reid as he walked slowly from the elevator towards his apartment door. He lived in what must have been the state's smallest apartment block with only two apartments on each of the four floors. But that wasn't the cause of Morgan's wrath.

Since their rather uncomfortable conversation earlier, Reid hadn't stopped talking. At first, it had been a blessing as it had completely taken Morgan's mind off everything that had happened, but by now he had the start of a headache and was desperate to fall asleep in an attempt to be fresh for his interview with Strauss tomorrow afternoon.

However, he'd driven Reid home, and was determined to make sure he was settled in his apartment before heading over to his own. It wasn't penance; he had suffocated any feelings of guilt, knowing that it was a pointless emotion once the cause of it had been identified and then put in the process of being rectified. It was a genuine affection for the boy genius. He just wished he'd brought earplugs.

"You sure you'll be okay?" Morgan said, standing outside Reid's door as he hunted for his keys. The eidetic memory had some flaws, and recalling where he had put keys was one of them.

"I'll be fine, Morgan. I can order groceries online for delivery tomorrow. I have everything I need. Seriously, you need to get home and get some rest," Reid said, inserting the key.

Morgan nodded, too tired to debate something that was actually true just for the sake of it. He stood back as Reid turned the key.

* * *

"You don't need to give me a ride home," Emily said, glancing at Hotch as he drove. "Morgan would have been happy to take me. I think he would have appreciated the distraction from Reid."

Hotch looked oddly harsh as he indicted to turn into the parking lot of her apartment block. "I wanted to make sure you got in okay," he said. He had been quiet for the whole of the ride, and she was beginning to wonder why.

"Aaron," she said as the car came to a halt. "Are you going to tell me what the matter is?" She placed a hand on the clip of his seatbelt and looked at him severely. For her own peace of mind she needed to know what was eating him up.

He turned to her, and she was reminded of the other time he had taken her home and they had been parked near here. "It feels strange knowing I'm not going to spend the night with you," he said, a confession.

"Then why don't you stay here tonight?" she said after a brief moment's thought.

"Is that wise?" he said. "We've not spent a night apart, and we've only just started to see each other. This could become rather intense."

Emily nodded. "You're right; it could. But we're not a pair of teenagers. We know what we want, or at least I do."

He turned away from her briefly and looked out of the window. "I want to wake up with you in the morning," he said. "If I don't, I'll feel that what we had was just because we were in Utah."

She removed her hand from the seatbelt clip and placed it on his arm instead. "I want you to stay with me tonight, for the same reason," she said. "Now let's get out of this car and go somewhere we can get some sleep."

He looked at her, the corners of his mouth twisting upwards faintly. Then he got out of the vehicle and pulled their luggage out of the trunk. Emily let him. She'd fought sometimes for her right to not be treated like the weaker sex, but Hotch carrying her belongings made her feel looked after rather than undermined.

They got to her apartment door with passing a single other soul. "Coffee?" she said, pulling her key out of her purse.

"Just bed, I think," he said, and she turned the key in the lock.

* * *

The sudden sound blared through the night air, causing nearby night time creatures to seek shelter, and any passersby to fear the worst. The explosion was quick and without pomp or circumstance, a swift, sharp bang that punched glass from windows, and anyone near enough off their feet.

The door that had just been opened was torn from its hinges with the force of the blast, falling onto the person who had just turned the key.

And then there was a shocked silence that bathed the immediate vicinity, shortly succeeded by the flashing lights of emergency vehicles and the sounds of sirens wailing like banshees. There was no rest for anyone. Wicked or not.

* * *

**_Hope this served well as a recap and got everyone up to date who didn't read Humanity._**

**_I'll post the first 'proper' chapter on Sunday._**

**_Sarah x_**


	2. Chapter One

_Thank you to those who reviewed the recap! Your thought and encouragement are much appreciated. If I haven't sent the extra chapter of Lake Erie to anyone who reviewed all 5 chapters then please PM me and let me know. I haven't gotten around to review replies yet – my grandfather's just been admitted to hospital, so I'm popping this up then probably driving to Wales. I'll try to get to them later._

_Thank you to __**Chiroho**__ for the beta!_

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"Where the blue of the night,  
Meets the gold of the day,  
Someone waits for me.

And the gold of her hair  
Crowns the blue of her eyes  
Like a halo, tenderly."

- **Bing Crosby**

**Chapter One**

_November 11__th_

"_You owe me some answers."_

_There was no hint of light even flickering into the room. The one, naked light bulb hung on a long wire from the low ceiling, enough length on it for the heat of the bulb to be used as a weapon._

"_I brought you here for answers. When are you going to give me some?"_

_There was a deep sigh. The coldness of the stone floor seemed to permeate the soles of shoes, sending shivers down spines. Then he began to pace back and forth, each footfall creating a soft noise that seemed malevolent given the circumstances._

"_You need to ask me the questions first." It was a technique to buy time. The longer they stalled, the more chance there was of being found by the rest of the team. _

_He sat down, scraping the wooden chair back slightly, the sound echoing through the room. If it could be called a room. It was more like a large cell; soulless and anonymous. "You already know what the questions are."_

"_Then there are too many of them." It was surprising that the words came out without a stutter, from the coldness as well as the fear. "You need to tell me where to start."_

_He looked away, over at the wall, as he had done several times already. There could be some significance to the spot, although there seemed to be nothing out of place there. It would be worth investigating should he ever leave the room for any length of time._

"_The beginning," he said. "That's where all stories should be started."_

* * *

November 4th

She was too tired to sleep.

Rain pattered against the window, its gentle rhythm keeping sleep at bay. Emily could see raindrops trickle down through the gap in the curtain where she hadn't quite closed it properly, light fracturing as it shone through from the street light outside.

She was warm; the comforter swaddled around her, wrapped around bare shoulders and over an arm that was almost protecting her breasts. Hotch's arm.

Faint traces of his aftershave clung around him, and she moved her head a bit closer to his, willing herself to fall asleep. She could hear his breath, deep inhalations, as he revelled in whatever dreams he had been blessed with, and felt almost jealous of his unconscious state. Had she been alone, she would have risen, made herself a warm drink, and maybe read a few pages of a book – currently _My Cousin Rachel _by Daphne Du Maurier – taking her mind away from whatever it was dwelling on. But with someone else there, someone whose sleep she didn't want to disturb, she couldn't start turning on lights and boiling a kettle, although she doubted Hotch would mind.

The rain began to hit the window pane harder, and she let a sigh lose into the room. Hotch wouldn't mind. In fact, he'd be more bothered by the fact that she hadn't taken care of herself because of not wanting to wake him. Gently moving his arm, she slipped out from between the sheets and picked up her dressing gown from the floor, pulling it on. She'd left the heat on overnight, just on low, but it was still cool.

He hadn't woken; instead the arm that had been wrapped around her had been pushed under the pillow and he'd sprawled onto her side, a legacy of sleeping alone. It would now be harder to get back into bed than it was to get out of it.

A lamp was still on, a dim orange glow lighting the kitchen just enough for her to microwave some hot milk to make cocoa. All they'd done since arriving there late last night was to go to bed and what that had entailed. She'd been in the kitchen briefly to get some water, and had found fresh milk, eggs, and bread provided by her neighbour who looked after the place while she was away. Tomorrow she would have to shop for groceries, maybe take a trip to the mall and invest in some new clothes as a treat. She might even buy some of the pottery she was collecting. Then later, maybe, she and Hotch would be able to grab some dinner somewhere. Unless he had Jack. Unless he didn't want to.

Emily stopped the microwave from beeping, opening the door to find that the milk had become too hot and had boiled over. She cursed under her breath, taking out the plate and hurriedly sticking it in the sink as it was hot to the touch.

"I hope that's for me."

She turned around, someone else's voice in her apartment startling her for a millisecond. "Aaron," she said, his first name tripping easily off her tongue. "I'm sorry. I woke you."

He leaned against the breakfast bar looking completely unlike the Hotch she knew at work. His hair was mussed and unkempt by sleep, his chest bare, wearing just a pair of boxers. It was then she realised the significance of him staying there tonight; it had spilled over into their personal lives, it wasn't just a Utah thing. "You didn't. I just woke up," he said. "I feel like I should be getting up now anyway. Getting just a few hours sleep every night for the past however long has obviously interfered with my sleep patterns."

She nodded. "I just can't get to sleep," she said. "Over tired, I guess." Emily rinsed the glass plate from the microwave and dried it quickly. "You want a cocoa?"

"Coffee," he said. "I'll get it. You take your drink and sit down."

They swapped places, she taking a seat on one of the stools that had barely been used. With one hand on the hot mug, she watched Hotch as he found his way about her kitchen, querying the feelings that were making themselves known inside her. She was nervous, unsure, and just that little bit scared. This apartment was hers; it had never been shared. The brief relationships she'd had since joining the BAU had happened at the other person's place, not here.

"I can leave, if it would help you to sleep," he said, looking up at her as the microwave began its unhealthy whir.

She shook her head. "I don't think I want you to go. I just need to get my head around it. I'm so used to being on my own."

He nodded, passing her the cocoa and a spoon. "You forgot this," he said. "I was disorientated when I woke up. It wasn't my room, and yet it was nothing like a hotel room." He took out the instant coffee as the microwave beeped.

Her eyelids felt suddenly weighted and she groaned heavily. "Sometimes I think I sleep better in hotel rooms," she said. "You know," she looked at him stirring the granules into the milk. "I'm glad you're here, even if it's a little weird."

He raised his eyebrows, now adding sugar with the same spoon.

"When we get home after a case I have to check that everything's secure at least twice; make sure no one, apart from Mrs Dalloway from across the hall, has been in, and I usually fall asleep in front of the TV because I'm too strung out to go to bed where it's quiet," she paused momentarily. "Right now, I feel safe. Which is nice."

Hotch picked up his coffee. "I usually only make coffee at this time of day because we've been called out somewhere, so I never get the luxury of drinking it in bed. How about we take these back to bed, unless you have some rule about not messing your sheets?"

She gave him a coy smile. "I think we already messed them." Standing, she picked up the mug and followed him back to the bedroom, placing it down on the bedside table and slipping back under the now cold comforter.

He shifted their pillows so they could prop themselves up, and she wondered whether he was purposely trying to give her some space by not putting his arm around her. "It's strange how this feels so different now we're not on a case," he said after taking a sip of his coffee.

"It feels more real," she pulled the comforter around her chest, slackening the belt of her dressing gown. "Away from work, from having to get up. Maybe it's because I'm sharing more with you being here. We guard our private lives like dragons; not just from each other, but from most people."

Hotch slid down the bed, still holding the mug. "It's self protection. We know the harm people do to each other, and we try to protect ourselves from that."

"You think that's what Morgan's been trying to do?" she said, glad to change the topic of conversation.

"I think it's why he won't commit to any form of serious relationship. He's scared of being hurt himself as much as he's scared of doing the hurting."

"And he already has a source for emotional support in Garcia," Emily said. "Although that dynamic has changed since she started seeing Kevin."

Hotch drained the rest of the coffee. "I think Morgan's just started on a new learning curve," he said. "In the long term, it won't do him any harm. He's just going to find the next few days tough." He put the cup down and sunk into the bed. "Work's a safe topic, Emily," he said, the use of her first name sending shivers through her body. "Tell me what you're going to do tomorrow."

His black hair contrasted violently with the white pillowcase, and she wondered what it would be like to sleep on it tomorrow night when he wasn't there. Conflicting emotions ran through her like red wine and beer. "Shop," she said. "I'm going to start with a really long shower, then go to the mall, followed by getting some groceries. I might have lunch at Le Chat Blanc, and at some point I'll call my mother. After that, I'm not sure." She felt like adding that it depended on what he was doing, but she didn't have the authority to say that. His free time would be dominated by his son – not that she would argue against that – but she didn't want to come across as being clingy.

Maybe that was why she was finding it difficult, him being here, that she didn't want to get used to it. Not yet, not too soon.

"Sounds expensive," he said. "And well deserved."

"Will you get to see Jack tomorrow?" she said, lying down after rearranging the pillows.

He nodded, the action encumbered by the pillow. "He's going to stay tomorrow night. Haley sent me a message earlier."

She smiled, trying to push the anxiety away that she would sleep alone tomorrow for the first night in almost a week. Yet part of her was relieved that she would have that space, maybe the opportunity to go for a drink with friends. It was a bag of mixed emotions, and she couldn't quite make sense of it. "That's good. What will you do?"

"He likes building things at the moment. I bought him a model airplane kit a few weeks ago, so we might make a start on that. Then probably watch kids' TV and eat something sensible. I'll take him to preschool the next day, and then maybe have him for another night before Haley goes to Colorado with her sister for a week," Hotch said. "They've had it booked for months, so the fact that I will have a week or so off work doesn't really come into the equation. Haley can't run her life by my work patterns anymore."

Emily studied his face, looking for hurt she knew she wouldn't find. She knew that the relationship between Hotch and Haley was over; that it was amicable in many ways. Any pain was from the guilt caused by not playing as big a part in his son's life as he thought he should, and Emily knew that that guilt was never going to go. "Let's hope things stay quiet for a few weeks then," she said, although hope would be futile.

"I may take a few days leave," he said. "When Jack's back – if there's nothing urgent."

She felt his hand pushing up the gown she was still wearing, then resting on the side of her hip. Her body reacted to his touch, and she was reminded of what was there between them. It hadn't gone away, the rain hadn't drained it.

"Maybe we could do something on Wednesday," he said. "Get a late breakfast somewhere, head out into the mountains – make a day of it." His fingers were swirling patterns on her skin. She shifted closer to him, her own hands now running paths up and down his arm.

"That sounds good," she said. Maybe she would enjoy tomorrow, by herself. She would know that the following day they'd spend some time together, but she could still be herself, be independent, but not insecure about when she would see him next, whether he wanted to see her.

She tasted coffee as he kissed her, and wondered whether the residue of chocolate remained on her lips. His hands moved about her dominantly, moving her onto her back, and this time she didn't battle for power. She was too tired to fight for it, too happy with what he was doing right now, too happy to lose herself some place nice. More than nice.

* * *

"Can't sleep?"

JJ looked up as Will entered Henry's bedroom. She was sitting on the rocking chair where she had spent many a night cradling Henry to sleep, watching her son as he lay in his cot, listening to his breathing. She shook her head. "I slept a little," she said. "But now I'm wide awake. I just can't switch off yet."

Will sat down on the chair in the corner, inadvertently knocking off some of Henry's folded clothes. He was preoccupied. Had been since she'd returned home, and not for the first time she'd wondered about the strain that she wasn't seeing that she was placing on their relationship.

"I'm sorry I've been away again," she said. "I'm sorry you've had to do everything again, and I've not been here to be with Henry, and I don't know what to do..." The tears came silently, a quiet waterfall.

For a moment, Will said nothing, prompting more fears from JJ. "Come here, cher," he said, eventually breaking the silence. "You're tired, and not thinking straight, and you've every right to be."

She stood up and somehow made her way over to him, trying to stifle her sobs so as not to wake the baby. She was missing so much of him, of Henry, and of Will. She didn't know how Hotch could stand it. At least Henry was there when she finally got home.

Will pulled her onto his knee, and she fell against his shoulder in relief, taking his strength to calm her.

"I need to tell you something, but before I do," he said, "you need to know that I love you, and that Henry is well and happy and fine."

She nodded, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders as soon as she heard his first words.

"I don't think I'm allowed to tell you this," he said, his voice low and sultry; she still found his accent as sexy as hell. "I think some agent or other will be talking to you all about it; but while you were away a threat was sent, a nasty one. I took it to Penelope and she passed it on to an Agent Mansfield, who she said would deal with it."

JJ's eyes had dried now and she was no longer over tired. Instead she was awake and sitting upright. "What did it say?"

Will shook his head. "It made threats, to you and us, and the rest of the team. You weren't told because you were in Utah, and needed to stay focused, and I don't think Mansfield thought it was a high risk threat."

She nodded, putting her forehead against his shoulder. "And you've upped the security around the house?" She felt as if she was accusing him, suggesting that he wasn't capable.

But Will was good natured and merely gave a low laugh. "I've had new window locks and a new alarm fitted. I'll need to talk you through how to get in and out of Fort Knox tomorrow, but for now, I think you should come to bed with me and get some sleep. I'll see to Henry if he wakes. You need your sleep right now."

JJ looked at him, unsure how he would think she could sleep after the bomb he had just dropped. "Will – I should speak to the rest of the team, check in, make sure they're all okay."

"Mansfield was on it," he said. "And Garcia went to everyone's apartment or house and checked to see if any other letters had been sent. They hadn't. The chances are its some relation of someone you've put away trying to get revenge by scaring you. The best thing you can do is sleep."

Tiredness seeped through her, a mental exhaustion she hadn't felt so deeply before. "Okay," she said. "But can we bring Henry in with us? I think I'd feel better if he was in the same room."

There was another low chuckle. "I thought you'd say that. I don't suppose it'd hurt for once. Go get in bed, Jayje, and I'll put him in the portable cot and bring him in. You want something to help you sleep? A warm milk, or a brandy?"

She stood up, feeling dizzy with tiredness, the initial shock of his news wearing away. There had been threats made before; they had been investigated and had never come to anything. "A warm milk with a drop of brandy," she said, taking a few stumbled steps towards the door.

Will nodded. "Go get back into bed. I'll get everything and be there in a few minutes."

She went into their bedroom, heading to the window instead of the bedroom, and pulled back the curtains, looking out. The road was quiet and still, a clouded moon overhead, and silence reigned.

* * *

When we wake, we leave the world of our subconscious to step back into reality. Usually, that reality is a familiar one, one of mornings and coffee, of pressing shirts in a hurry, and cutting skin while shaving. When Aaron Hotchner woke up to the sound of his cell phone ripping into the silence of the night, he found himself having to force recollection of where he was, and that he wasn't actually still dreaming. Emily was curled into his chest, sleeping soundly. He remembered their early morning drink, followed by one of the best soporifics he knew, and then he remembered why he had woken up.

When Aaron Hotchner stretched his arm out to reach for his phone, he tried not to wake her, but she stirred anyway, looking up at him with bleary eyes. "Who is it?" she said.

He didn't recognize the number, or the voice as he answered, but he felt a familiar cold shiver travel through his body as he sat up, and looked at Emily.

The truth is, when we wake, we never really know what we have woken up into. In some cases, we leave our dreams behind, and walk into a waking nightmare.

* * *

_Please review. This is going to be a rather traumatic story to write, so I do need all the encouragement I can get!!_

_Sarah x_


	3. Chapter Two

_Thank you for the reviews, and the messages about my grandfather. He has a burst stomach ulcer, but other than that is as grouchy as ever – back to normal then! _

_I haven't had chance to do replies, it is another of those weeks where everything goes to pot, so instead of replying to individual reviews, I'll send a short chapter (that may not be in the time frame of this story – it might be something independent instead) to those that have reviewed each chapter so far and review this and chapter three. _

_Your comments so far have been very interesting and I have really enjoyed reading them – keep them coming!_

_Chapter three may be up on Thursday or Friday; it's almost finished, but I have a report to write tonight, so the pressures on my amazing beta __**Chiroho**__ and I'd rather not rush him, as he really does do a marvellous job! If you want to say a thank you to him, do pop by and read his stories; they're light relief compared to mine, and drop him a review!_

_I am off work next week and the week after, so I will get in the swing of updating Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday again, and hopefully start replying to reviews individually again, as well as a calorie free 'treat' for regular reviewers! (Don't expect anything huge – it'll be around 1000 words)._

_Thanks for being understanding!_

_Sarah x_

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"There is nothing heavier than compassion. Not even one's own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels for someone, for someone, pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echoes."

- **Milan Kundera**

**Chapter Two**

_November 11__th_

"_Tell me about yourself."_

_Taking control of the conversation seemed the right thing to do. The glint of something metallic sat eye-catchingly in his pocket, but it didn't look like a gun._

"_What do you want to know?" he said, pacing from one side of the room to the other._

"_Why you're doing this." It was almost impossible to keep a tremble out of the words._

"_If you start at the beginning, you'll know why." The power began to shift._

_Realisation began to kick in. They were in a place that was completely unknown, out of the way and secluded. There'd been a brief glimpse of it when the car door had been opened and he'd needed to remove the blindfold, but that was all._

"_Before I start," the tremble was back in full force this time. "Can you tell me what is in your pocket?"_

"_Yes, I can tell you." He looked pleased that the question had been asked. "I take it your rather inane question means you want to know what it is? He smiled, showing a line of perfectly white teeth that were probably the result of expensive dentistry. It wouldn't have been a surprise if the work had been done while he had been an adult. "It's a remote control."_

"_For a bomb?" Fear breathed fire through veins, the ties that bound limbs to the chair pulled at in frustration._

"_Yes. For a bomb."_

* * *

November 4th

There was no sign of the dawn as the car quietly raced towards Roanoke General Hospital. The original rush of adrenaline had left behind nerves and exhaustion, a fuel that Emily knew she could only run on for so long before she'd have to retreat to find energy from somewhere.

Only now there was no safe retreat.

"Shall I call the rest of the team?" she said, the sound of her voice strange against the silence.

Hotch shook his head. "It's not for me to make that decision," he said. "I do need to call Strauss if she isn't already aware of what's happened." His jaw was tight, his forehead creased with concern.

Emily tried to sink back into the seat, but found she couldn't. Her heart was still beating too fast, and her body felt as if she had just ran a marathon; racked with an ache that only a witches' brew of emotions could create.

"You'll need to get some rest later," Hotch said, his tone now that of a superior. "I'll have someone check both of our apartments, and then I'll take you back home after we've been to the hospital."

She nodded, knowing that it would be pointless to argue, even if she wanted to. "We won't be able to work this case," she said to him. "You know that. It'll be passed on to Agent Mansfield and his team."

"We'll still be asked to work it unofficially, from the office," he said, braking as a fox ran across the road. "The fastest way to catch the bomber is to profile him. Working victimology will be easy seeing as the victim is one of us."

"And potentially damaging," she said, her mind racing with the implications of what was going to happen. "We'll all have to open up our pasts. That's not going to be easy, Hotch: the last few days have shown how hard it is for some of us to deal with our current situations."

Lights in the distance signified that they were approaching the hospital, the roads made quiet by night giving them a quick journey. Emily rubbed at her eyes, feeling their dryness. It was just past four in the morning, and her body and mind were longing for sleep, only the dread in the pit of her stomach was preventing that from happening anytime soon.

"It will be easier for some than others," Hotch said. She could see that his thoughts were now elsewhere, his mind racing to cope with the news they had received just forty five minutes ago. "But this will be repeated if we don't find the UnSub soon, and the next time it could be far more damaging than a few broken windows and shrapnel wounds."

"There's no chance this was random – no sign of a prank or a mistaken identity?" She was trying to persuade herself more than Hotch. The likelihood of it being so was minimal. There was no way the UnSub had got the wrong address.

Hotch shook his head. "No. This is a direct attack," Hotch said, following it with a loud sigh. "We should be having a good week or so off. Now everyone needs to be contacted and will have to be at Quantico tomorrow."

"What about Morgan?" Emily said, remembering Hotch's schedule for the day.

Hotch shrugged. "He's still part of the team. This affects him as much as any of us."

"So you think it's an attack on the team, rather than an individual?" Her mind was jumping; sleep deprivation ceasing any linear thought.

"We can't rule anything out." He pulled into a parking spot in front of the hospital, staring straight ahead at the darkened building. Lights in the windows glowed, but they did not provide warmth. Instead they reminded Emily of a Siren's call, summoning men to a place of death. Hospitals at night always seemed eerie, as if the eyes of unknown ghosts watched from darkened windows, looking for new people to join them.

Emily tried to shrug off the sense of impending doom that had been flying in from a distance since they left Utah, and had now landed. "We should go in, Aaron," she said, turning to him. "We're going to need to persuade him to stay overnight, if he hasn't already discharged himself."

"That's easier said than done," Hotch said, undoing his seatbelt. "Mules have nothing on him."

The lobby was quiet; the dead hours of the early morning empty of the usual movement that the daytime and the evening brought. Two women in their thirties or forties sat behind computer monitors, neither looking up as Hotch and Emily approached; their attention elsewhere. It was an almost out-of-body experience; the sound of her heels clicking on the hard floor appeared to come from elsewhere, and Emily felt as if she was watching a strange TV program; an observer rather than participant. She knew it was due to exhaustion and adrenaline, an odd combination that her body no longer wanted to be fuelled by, but she also knew that she had to get through the next couple of hours. Somehow.

"We're here to see David Rossi," Hotch said, the words surreal. "He's expecting us."

The blonde receptionist looked up, giving them a smile that was practised rather than sincere. "He's in room 375, that's on the third floor."

"Thank you." He glanced at Emily, maintaining the look as they walked towards the elevator. "Are you okay?"

The words didn't really register, they kind of bounced off a protective boundary that she'd built, a wall that was blocking off her feelings.

"I'm fine," she said, knowing it was a lie, and that he'd be able to see straight through it. But did she want anything other than that?

"You're not," he said, checking his messages as he spoke. "You're exhausted, and if you don't sleep properly soon, you're going to end up getting sick."

Emily entered the elevator and leaned against the metal wall. "You're right," she said. "I am. And then I'll be no use to you or whatever investigation is going to happen. Shit, Hotch! How are we going to do this?" The confession lifted some weight off her shoulders, but not all of it. There was no daylight glowing at the end of any tunnel at present; the light had been well and truly extinguished.

"I don't know," he said, and the words surprised her. He usually knew everything, or so it seemed. "I don't know what's going to happen, or how we will deal with it on such little rest, but we'll have to. We need to look at it as we do any other case. And we _will_ get to the bottom of it." She saw the appraising look he gave her. "Let's see Dave, then take you home."

She felt a shot of worry shimmy through her. "My apartment..."

"Is being checked as we speak," he said. "I've also had a message to confirm that the exterior of JJ's, Reid's and Morgan's places are all okay. There are no signs of suspicious activity and the people checking have seen enough to suggest nothing abnormal has happened."

"Shouldn't we wake them? Have someone go through – we don't know if this is just an attack on Rossi or all of us?" Concern bubbled, overwhelming.

"I don't know," he said. "It's not really my call."

Elevator doors slid open, letting the false fluorescent light of the hospital corridors blind them. She followed Hotch without thought, trusting him to lead them to Ross's room. The feeling of being out of control was not enjoyable, but she was too tired to fight it, too tired to take control of herself; and as Hotch's hand slipped onto the small of her back she knew he realised that.

The door to room 375 was open, no privacy needed. Emily saw Rossi's face first, a jagged cut emblazoning his right cheek. He was staring at the wall in front of them, deliberately oblivious to their presence. She wondered what he was thinking, how far back in his past he had gone, searching for a reason why someone would do this to him.

"It wasn't meant to kill," he said as they entered. "It was meant to scare."

Hotch pulled a chair slightly away from the bed for her to sit on.

"That's why I don't think I'm the only target," Rossi turned his head and looked at them. "A few days ago, I saw Agent Mansfield in Garcia's office. She denied it was him, but she's never become good enough at lying to get away with it, and I wondered if a threat had been made against one, or all, of us, and Mansfield was investigating."

"Have you called her?" Hotch said, still standing, his posture tense. "Was a threat made?"

Rossi shook his head. "I don't know. I haven't tried to contact her. I figured Agent Mansfield would get in touch with her and the rest of the team, but he hasn't even been here yet."

"He's on vacation," Hotch said. "And no one's been able to get in touch with him."

"He goes fishing. They'll be no cell phone reception. Does Strauss know?" Rossi said.

Hotch nodded. "I'm expecting a call from her to say when she intends to inform everyone."

"There have been no other attacks?" Rossi said. Emily now noticed his tone of voice: it was flat. Gone was any emotion or urgency, the words were devoid of any emotion.

"None that we know of. What happened, Dave?" Hotch said.

There was silence, an empty noise. It lingered like the smell of antiseptic even after Rossi started to speak.

"I got home, parked the car in the garage, and as I unlocked the front door I heard a loud noise and found myself being knocked over by the force of an explosion. The windows blew out, and the door came off its hinges, and for a moment, I thought everything was over. Then when I came to, I realised that wasn't it, that I was still alive and breathing, and would have a hell of a lot of cleaning up to do. There was no intent to kill me. This is a taunt, Aaron. A threat."

Emily saw Hotch nod. They were beginning to profile already. "The house has been secured, and there will be crime scene techs and officers there all night. I've asked them to preserve everything until morning," Hotch said. "We need a clear head on this one."

"Then go home," Rossi said, seeming to be more alert now. "Go and get some rest. I'm not going anywhere for tonight. I need to sleep and look at this again in the morning. You stayed at Emily's, right?"

Hotch's cell vibrated loudly. He pulled it out of his pocket and left the room. One word responses could be heard that gave away nothing. Emily exchanged a look with Rossi, and gave a sigh that told of her realisation. He'd had his own apartment checked out.

Footsteps echoed, filling the silence as he came back into the room. Hotch's face was drawn and grim. "There was another explosive," he said. "At my apartment. It's not an attack on you, Dave. This is on all of us. It's about the BAU."

* * *

_Please review!_


	4. Chapter Three

_Thank you for the reviews, including thanks to Sussi, Starrmyst and Kim! I have managed to send brief replies to those who reviewed the last chapter, and I'll catch up on the previous one over the weekend._

_Thank you for all the kind wishes for my grandfather. He has a burst stomach ulcer, and has now picked up a virus whilst in hospital so is now in isolation (which means he's been able to get some peace and quiet!)._

_As I promised last chapter, I will write a one shot, or an extra scene that isn't crucial to the plot, and send to regular reviewers as a thank you. I break up from school (I teach) tomorrow, and as I'm skint I'll be spending my two weeks off writing!_

_Thanks to __**Chiroho**__ for the beta, and the next chapter may be up Sunday or Monday as it's not written yet!_

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"If I have seen further than others, it is by standing upon the shoulders of giants."

- **Isaac Newton**

**Chapter Three**

_November 11__th_

"_What is it that you intend to do?"_

_He smiled at the question as if he had been expecting it all along. There was nothing urgent now about his demeanour; he was calm, at peace almost, as if everything that needed to be done had been done, and now he could revel in the aftermath of his work. "Think about it," he said. "Think about everything that you have done over the past week. What have you learned?"_

_She focused on her breathing, making it steady, less panicked. Since she had known he was planning another explosion her outlook had changed. Being calm was now difficult; she was in a situation where she wanted to fight or fly, and fighting certainly wasn't an option. But neither was flying. She had no idea how to get out of there, or even how to create an opportunity to look for a way out. "We have learnt about you," she said. "We know more than you think."_

"_You know what I wanted you to know. Enough to create fear. Enough so that your mind is now racing with the possibilities of what I've planned. You know that I have a remote control to a bomb somewhere; but you don't know where that bomb is, and you don't know if your colleagues are aware of it. You also don't know if there is a secondary explosive somewhere, because you will have profiled me to be a mission oriented killer, you think that I will kill myself once my mission has been completed." He sat down on the chair facing her, his fingers softly tapping on the wood of the table. _

"_There's no point me answering your questions," she said, pulling calmness from somewhere. "Because my answers will always be wrong." She fell silent. She had to use what she knew, what she had learned. She had to buy time._

_He nodded. "Very well," he said. "Just remember I know more about you than you do about me. I've been studying you for so long that I know every inch, every crevasse of your soul."_

_She felt resolve harden in her, letting her eyes become like stone, cold and unreadable. They knew what he wanted his victims to do, and to survive, she was going to have to do anything but._

* * *

November 4th

The carpet under his feet must be wearing thin.

He'd been pacing since seven thirty, since a call had come from Strauss. There'd been fewer details than he'd have liked, but enough to make his heart race and his mind tick through every possibility. Rossi had been injured in an explosion at his home. It wasn't serious; the bomb hadn't been built to kill, just to warn and scar a little, but it had shown that they were a target. They were being stalked.

Morgan leant against the kitchen counter and looked out of the window at the city, a glimpse of a wooded area in the distance. Some minion of Strauss' had driven by as soon as they had found out what had happened to make sure there had been no obvious attacks on the rest of their homes. JJ, Reid, Emily and himself had all been left alone. However, an explosive similar to that used at Rossi's had been found wired to the lock on Hotch's door, the UnSub obviously expecting Hotch to return home. Clearly whoever had done this didn't know that Hotch and Emily were together.

A crow sat on a telephone wire, momentarily making eye contact with Morgan before flying off. Its simplicity soothed him some and he turned to his coffee maker. Nothing had been said by Strauss about his behaviour in Utah, and he imagined it would be put on the back burner until they had caught whoever had done this to Rossi. His stomach felt unsettled, tiredness and apprehension corrupting its natural floras. The fact that Strauss had told him to come in for nine, like he would on any other day, had reassured him somewhat, but her tone of voice had been decidedly unfriendly. Not that that was unusual, but she'd always had more of a soft spot for him than Reid, for example.

The smell of coffee did nothing to stimulate him. He'd slept well, a sleep he felt he hadn't deserved. There had been no dreams that he recalled, no disruptions, nothing, until his cell phone had rung. He wished she'd called him sooner, that he'd been told Rossi was injured, and that there hadn't been some undercover job to check their buildings. But then, she knew they'd had little rest.

He poured the coffee into a travel mug and grabbed his jacket, taking an extra minute to make sure the apartment was secure. He'd told Strauss about his other houses, one of which he was planning to move into himself, renting his present apartment out instead. He doubted that they'd be any explosives in his other properties, they weren't common knowledge, but that didn't mean it was classified information. He could also see why he wouldn't be a target for the UnSub; he wasn't high profile enough. Attacks on Rossi's and Hotch's homes weren't a coincidence; Hotch was the leader, Rossi the next in line and with a prolific personality. This UnSub had a high opinion of himself; he thought he could compete with the top dogs.

Morgan locked up and took the stairs rather than the elevator. He didn't trust elevators and at this moment in time, he was going to trust fewer things than he had before. He nodded at the attendant before pushing open the door that led into the parking lot for the building. His car was straight ahead, in its usual place.

He stopped for a moment and stared at it, an act that had Garcia seen him, would have caused her to mock, but he wasn't standing there to admire the vehicle. He was standing there because his instincts were telling him to go no further. He stepped back in the door. "Don't let anyone in. Can you stop the gates from opening?"

The attendant nodded, looking puzzled. Morgan pulled out his cell phone and dialled a number he hated calling. "Strauss," he said. "We need someone to check vehicles. They may have been tampered with."

* * *

Hotch tried to focus on the document in front of him, but his mind just wouldn't stay with it. He glanced out of the window into the bullpen, seeing Emily, Reid and JJ clustered around Reid's desk. No one else was around, it was still too early. Morgan was being brought over by Agent Abbassi, while Garcia had gone to pick Rossi up from hospital to bring him into work. His injuries had been superficial, the overnight stay in hospital more of a security measure than a medical one.

He stood up, stretching his legs. After leaving Rossi, he and Emily had returned to her apartment and she had gone back to sleep, not even waking when her alarm clock began to blare at six thirty. He'd been awake, unable to even close his eyes, instead taking comfort from her warm body and soft sheets against his skin.

Strauss hadn't asked why he was at Prentiss' apartment, but she had given him a significant look that told him she already knew his reason for being there. He'd chosen to ignore it, hoping that she would dismiss any liaison between himself and Emily as irrelevant, but he had a feeling she would simply store it as ammunition for future use.

Three pairs of eyes landed on him as he opened his office door.

"Hotch," JJ said tentatively. "Any idea how long it will be until Rossi gets here?"

"He's on his way," Hotch said. "Shall we go into the conference room and start to discuss what we know? Strauss is going to come in and speak to us at nine thirty so we get the broader picture." He had been irate when he'd discovered that the initial threat to his team had been concealed from him, and he was still quietly seething at the fact he had still not been told everything Strauss was privy to.

There were three nods, followed by a quick scuffle of papers and JJ led them into the conference room. They sat at their usual seats, Emily beside him, and JJ passed out pads of paper, leaving some in the places where Rossi and Morgan would be soon.

Hotch glanced around at them all; sleep had only done so much to alleviate the exhaustion of the last few days, weeks even, and now they were going to be tested once more. Reid was still moving stiffly, and had a doctor's appointment later on in the day. He would need to given desk jobs for the next week or so, depending on how quickly he healed. There would be no grace period now for them to take a vacation, or for Emily to go shopping; they would resume a usual routine in the hope of keeping them safe, and drawing out the bomber.

"This is someone who knew we were away," Emily said. "Someone who has information on us, or watches the media."

"Or who works here," JJ said. "While we were in Utah a letter was sent to my home, addressed to Will, threatening myself and the rest of us."

"Did the letter mention Henry?" Hotch said. He knew of the letter. Strauss had mentioned it briefly, but had provided no details.

"No," JJ said. "And the writer did state that they weren't interested in harming innocents."

"But it depends on who he thinks of as an innocent," Reid said, threading a pen between his fingers absently. "And we keep referring to the UnSub as a he – it may not be."

Hotch nodded, hearing familiar footsteps approach the door before it opened. Morgan looked focused, an expression Hotch hadn't seen since they were in South Dakota, and it produced slight relief. Morgan patted Reid on the shoulder as he walked past, and Reid gave him a brief smile. All was well between the two of them.

Rossi winced as he sat down, all eyes drawn to him. "I've been discharged," he said. "I didn't discharge myself, and I'm taking pain killers. Following all the doctor's instructions to the tee. Now, what are we going to do about getting hold of the son of a bitch who's just cost me a few grand's worth of damage?" He looked expectantly at them all.

Hotch almost smiled, such was Dave's expression. "We have to look at ourselves and consider this team as a victim," he said, watching their faces. "This means we need to analyse ourselves to some degree to see if we can pinpoint a particular person who may want to damage out team, and if we can put together a preliminary profile, we can see who fits."

"Hotch," Morgan said. "Are we actually going to be allowed to work this? Isn't Strauss going to bring in an outside team?"

Hotch shook his head. "We're the best resource the Bureau has in situations like this. And knowledge of the attack will be contained to those who need to know."

"In case it's an inside job?" Morgan said. "This means we're going to have to work a case as well, Hotch. We will have to maintain a semblance of normality. Has Strauss spoke to you about this – we're all at breaking point."

Hotch let Morgan finish, knowing there was reason in what he was saying, and that Morgan had to get it off his chest. "I haven't spoken to Strauss in any detail yet. She is due to arrive in a few minutes to brief us fully on what's happened in our absence. She will have been given orders from above, and we will have to follow them too."

Morgan nodded, accepting of it. The strain was still visible; the pressure and worry of the last few days, and of what was to come when the incidents in Utah were dealt with. However, that seemed to be one black cloud that was going to linger over him for a few more days.

"Good, you're all together." The door was pushed open and the tall figure of Strauss entered. Hotch braced himself automatically; he was used to receiving a barrage of criticism from Strauss whenever he saw her, although that had lessened slightly recently. She sat down in one of the spare chairs as Garcia slipped into the room, giving an apologetic look, and seeming rather fearful of Strauss. "There's not a great deal to tell you," Strauss began.

"Is that because you can't – or won't – tell us, or because you haven't found anything out?" Rossi said, and Hotch looked at Strauss for her reaction.

She gave him a brief but exasperated look, but remained unruffled. "It's because we don't know as much as we'd like." She gave a deep sigh, and Hotch realised how tired she looked. "A few days ago, a letter was sent to Agent Jareau's home addressed to Will LaMontagne, containing what Agent Mansfield considered an empty threat that did require some investigation, but did not warrant immediate protective action. As you're all aware,key features in such letters are indentified and then rated for the threat they present. It was a standard threat stating that the team was in danger because of what they had done and had failed to do. There was no mention of explosives, or even a hint as to what the writer intended to carry out. However, what was concerning, was the amount of detail they had on each member of the team."

"Is this the type of information that anyone with a computer and an idea of how to hack into everyday databases could find? Or was it more the sort of stuff you'd only find under tightened security?" Morgan said, leaning forward onto the table.

Strauss looked at him with consideration. Hotch was aware of her position with protocol and Morgan still being active on the team. Technically, he shouldn't be there, but any shift in the team's personnel – however temporary – could draw further attention from the UnSub if they were being watched. "It was everyday information," she said. "It was one of the factors why Agent Mansfield wasn't overly concerned. We do get letters like this from time to time; they are not unusual. To go through a detailed analysis each time one was received would take you away from your roles too often." She paused for a moment, her fingers grazing the corners of the files she had brought with her.

"Is there any connection between the letter and the explosion?" Emily said, frowning at the files. Hotch knew her mind was now working on two levels; what Strauss was or wasn't telling them, and what the files were for.

"There is no direct connection, but it's doubtful to be a coincidence. Agent Mansfield is on leave for another three days, and he is out of the area and non-contactable. His senior agent, Reece Boyd, will meet with you at noon to discuss the investigation into the explosion, the attempted bomb at Agent Hotchner's residence, and the mock explosive under Agent Morgan's car. Until then, there are a couple of things to occupy you," Strauss looked around at them, and for a moment Hotch thought he could see concern in her eyes. "I realise the pressure you have been under the past few weeks. Had circumstances been different, you would have all been on leave for two weeks as of today. However, we need to maintain a sense of normality. As you would probably advise, the way to draw out the UnSub is to have you carry on with your routines while taking precautions. With your permission, your homes are going to be searched for monitoring devices, and your technical analyst will search through your online records to check for any suspicious activity or unauthorised access.

"What we need you to do is to profile the unidentified subject. You are the best analysts of each other's behaviour. You need to work victimology, as you would usually do, but for all intents and purposes, no one outside of your team and Agent Mansfield's must know what you are doing." She straightened her back, and Hotch was sure he heard a slight creak from her vertebrae.

Hotch glanced around at his team. They all were silent, their faces pallid, eyes wide. They had all, at one point or another, been in a life or death situation, but never with any forewarning. This could simply be a threat from someone with a grudge, someone who was aggrieved that a loved one or a friend had been found guilty because of their profile, or someone with a more subtle reason. So far, it seemed that their only goal was to cause panic, rather than actual harm, but that could easily change.

"I'm expecting you to work alongside Agent Mansfield, Agent Boyd, and their team, as you would with the local police department in any other case. I also expect you to be careful, and to consider every possibility, every encounter, that may have caused someone to want to target this team. You will of course be given a copy of the letter and information about the explosives when you meet with Agent Boyd." Strauss let out a slight sigh, her fingers now stilling on top of the files. There were six of them, and Hotch doubted that the number was a coincidence.

"I lied to you earlier," she said. "Even without this attack on the BAU, I would have had to call you in. We have a case, and it's one, I'm afraid, that no local PD can work on."

* * *

_Please review and let me know if you enjoyed or not, or who you think has been kidnapped!_

_Sarah x_


	5. Chapter Four

_Thank you to all the readers who reviewed the last chapter! I'll be writing a short Hotch/Emily drabble for those who have reviewed the chapters so far – I'll PM it to you once it's done! Thank you to Kim, Sussi, and schokokaffee for their reviews too!_

_I'm just going to draw people's attention to the dates of the two sections. The italicised part of the story is a flash forward, set a week ahead of the main bulk of the chapter. _

_Thank you to __**Chiroho**__ who has been magnificent! I promise to give you more time in future!_

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"Beyond right and wrong, there is a field. I will meet you there."

- **Rumi**

**Chapter Five**

_November 11__th_

"_Refusing to speak won't help your cause, you know." His voice was calm now, with almost a quiet laugh in his words. "And you haven't even asked what I've done with the other one. That surprises me."_

_She looked up at him, keeping her expression stony, and hoping that he couldn't tell that her heartbeat had risen at the mention of his first prisoner. They knew she would be unharmed. It wasn't in his profile to kill or hurt someone who posed no threat to his mission. Sophie was just a bargaining piece in this game he was playing, a very calculated bargaining piece._

_However, she knew that she wasn't such an object. In the briefest of moments hatred burned in his eyes when he looked at her, the milliseconds when his true emotions flared through the half mad facade he had created. Because he wasn't mad; he was simply angry enough to know longer care what the final outcome of his actions would be, as long as he had completed what he set out to do._

"_We know you haven't harmed her. You only attack those that you think have done you wrong. Sophie hasn't done anything," she said, choosing her words carefully, hoping to show him that she thought of him as an equal._

_He gave her a smile that made her worry for the girl's safety, and a cold shiver ran through every bone. "We'll have to see how accurate your profile is, won't we, my dear? And just how good your colleagues actually are. Something tells me that they might not be as good as you think."_

* * *

November 4th

They waited until Strauss had left the room before opening the files. Reid took the cue from his colleagues, not doing anything until the door had been closed and a couple of meaningful glances had been exchanged. He was glad that they would have a case to work on while all of this was being resolved, as he certainly didn't feel like spending too much time at home. The BAU would be the safest place for all of them at present.

"You know anything about this, Hotch?" Rossi said, sitting back in his seat and looking at the file folder.

Hotch shook his head. "There hasn't been time for me to speak with Strauss, apart from a very brief conversation early this morning. She's going to face the same scrutiny we are. She's part of the team. That means she'll be privy to the same information we will."

"And she doesn't like not having complete control," Reid said. "We don't know yet if there are personal or professional reasons for this attack. To find that out, we're going to have to go into her past as well as our own. That may well be causing her some concern."

Hotch nodded, his eyes coming back to the file. "We have two cases to work," he said. "And we will have to run them concurrently. We can't do anymore about the bombing until we meet Agent Boyd. Let's look through what we've just been given, and them we may have to decide whether to split the team."

Silence fell over the room as the files were opened. There would be a few minutes now where nothing would be said while they took in the details of the case, absorbing the key facts, some of them jotting down notes as they went along, especially Rossi who seemed no longer to rely solely on his memory. Reid didn't take notes; instead he just let the words be photographed by his memory, and knew he'd be able to churn them out verbatim later, if necessary.

He looked up ten minutes later; Emily was still examining the photos of the little boy; Rossi was standing up, peering out of the windows and looking at the rest of the bullpen; Morgan reread the first page; Hotch was scrawling notes, and JJ's eyes were wide as she took in the details. Garcia had shifted to a corner of the room and was typing swiftly on her notebook, already researching. She would have guessed what information they would be immediately requesting, and would have it found before they even got to the point of asking.

Hotch looked up; Reid saw him glancing round the team, probably evaluating where everyone was in their thought processes. He knew how they all worked; that was his job, and he would know the appropriate time to begin the discussion. Hotch closed his file and Reid did the same. Rossi sat back down and gradually the others looked up, Morgan pouring more water.

"Your thoughts?" Hotch said, his face expressionless. Reid wondered what he really thought of the case and how it had been handled so far. It was already a mess.

"We should have been called away from Utah for this," Morgan said. "Why has it been left untouched for seventy-two hours?"

"They brought private investigators in immediately," Hotch said. "Their findings are on page 24. We can have access to whatever we need, but it has to stay within in the BAU. Let's review what we've got before we start to look at damage control."

"Alfie Fletcher, three years and three months old, was taken from his home in Oakdale, Manassas between 11.30pm on October 31 and 6.30am on November 1. His mother, Juliet Fletcher, checked on him just before she went to bed, and the nanny went into his room in the morning to check on him as he's usually up earlier," Reid said. Summing up the facts like this kick started his brain into making connections. It was like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that needed to be sorted logically, grouping matching patterns and colours, then seeing the pieces that fit together. "Ms Fletcher then called Alfie's father, who contacted a Mr Rafe Hanson, a private detective, who immediately went to the house."

"Everything that a local PD would do has already been done in half the amount of time, as it's all been paid for privately. They didn't take any short cuts," Rossi said. "The only thing that would have been done, that hasn't, is calling us in immediately. Forensics, background checks redone on staff – it's all there."

"Alfie's room is on the second floor, and the UnSub's entry point was through that window, which hadn't been secured. The house has high fencing all around it – this was carefully planned," Reid said, recalling the photos of the room and the exterior. "And so far there have been no demands for a ransom."

"There's been no contact from anyone regarding Alfie. And you can see why this has been kept so quiet. Usually, in cases like this, we involved the media, but here that has been forbidden," Hotch said, glancing at JJ. "We're going to have to quash all inquiries about this, should any details get out."

Emily shook her head in exasperation rather than disagreement. "You would've thought that at this point the parents would have stopped caring about the fallout, and just want their child back. The ramifications of the affair shouldn't matter."

"I would imagine that the mother feels that way," JJ said. "But given his position, the father needs to protect himself as well. How much involvement did he have in Alfie's life anyway? Was the affair still current? I haven't managed to read that far yet."

"From what I can gather, the father was a regular visitor to Ms Fletcher's home, but Alfie was unaware of how they were related," Reid said. "Ms Fletcher has a good income, but it isn't enough to finance a house that size in that area, so I imagine Geoff Thompson provides for her financially. And JJ, I'm not sure she would want this affair to be uncovered – it could mean a loss of lifestyle, and the end of their relationship. Otherwise, why did she call Thompson first, and not the police?" He sat back, puzzled. There was the possibility that a threat had been made and it had gone unreported.

"We'll need to ask her," Hotch said. "We have to ignore the fact that Mr. Thompson is potentially running for congress, within the boundaries we have been given." Reid saw him turn to JJ, and realised why - JJ looked as if she had just been hot over the head with a huge realisation. "What is it, JJ?"

"Six years ago David Dwyer's daughter Evangeline was taken during the night from their home in Broken Meadows," she said. "Dwyer was a congressman at the time. Evangeline was found five months later, her body left in a field. She'd been dead for at least four and a half months."

Reid felt the temperature in the room drop significantly. These were the worst cases: the ones that involved small children. These were the ones that caused sleepless nights, and the nightmares where the killer was always just out of reach. These were the ones they dreaded.

"We need to pull up that file," Hotch said. "You're quite right, JJ. From what we know so far, there is a connection. However, it may just be coincidence. We need to go to Ms Fletcher's house and take a look round, interview the mother. We will have to ask Mr. Thompson to come in to us. This could be Christmas for the media if they get wind of it, and he's unlikely to cooperate with us if he thinks his wife could find out."

"Any possibility of an inside job?" Morgan said. "It could be a copycat – someone who knew about the Evangeline Dwyer case."

Hotch nodded. "We can't rule out anything." He looked at his watch. "We have two hours until Agent Boyd gets here. I suggest we start work on the missing child case. Garcia, what have you got for us?"

She looked up from her laptop. "I've dug out as much information as I could on both Juliet Fletcher and Geoff Thompson. There's a lot on both of them. To summarise briefly, Juliet Fletcher is the daughter of Gerald and Marion Fletcher and was born and brought up in Milwaukee. She went to Brown, and studied Biomedical Engineering. She's currently involved in stem cell research, and has been the centre of a couple of controversial papers. She claimed that Alfie's father is a childhood sweetheart, Les Bennett, who died shortly after Alfie was conceived. Apart from Bennett not being Alfie's father, that is true. She receives a very generous allowance each month from Thompson – a payment is made via several accounts so there would be no chance of his wife tracking down where the money goes.

"Thompson has a complicated financial history, as you might expect. He's fifteen years older than Ms. Fletcher, and has an ex-wife, wife and two children who are in their twenties. One of his children, Dianna, has been in and out of rehab for the past three years suffering from an eating disorder; the other, Julianne, has just started at the FBI. Both receive a monthly allowance, and he also pays for all Dianna's medical bills. There's more, and I will keep digging." She reverted her eyes back to the screen.

Hotch stood, picking up the file. "Morgan, I want you to go through everything we have on the Evangeline Dwyer case with Reid. Rossi, prepare to interview Thompson – I think he'll respond best to an older man who he perceives as being an equal. Prentiss, as soon as we've spoken with Agent Boyd, I'd like you to go over to the house and interview Ms. Fletcher. We need to know everything she can remember from the week leading up to Alfie's disappearance." He looked at JJ. "So far there has been no media attention given to this, but we don't know how long that will continue. We need a contingency plan. We may also need to call on the media for their help without encouraging them into looking into Ms. Fletcher's background. Clearly, that's what Thompson is afraid of – that any investigation will somehow blow his cover."

They all looked at Hotch expectantly. His expression was still grim. "I'm going to call Agent Boyd and see if I can move up the timing of his visit. We have two cases to work, one being a missing child – he's going to have to fit around us."

* * *

Putting thoughts in boxes to be dealt with later was something that most people who worked in the BAU became sufficiently adept at to survive. There came a point, as with Elle, when the UnSub no longer stayed in the box, and they could not walk away; but Morgan supposed that they all had that breaking point somewhere in them, and as of the past few days, he knew where his was. Unlike Elle, there had been some degree of control, and now he wanted to master those feelings that had escaped from their box, making sure that it wouldn't happen again.

Sitting at the computer next to Reid, he began to pull up the Evangeline Dwyer case from the archives, keying in three different passwords and answering security questions. Reid had begun by finding press cuttings from the disappearance and murder of the child, looking at it from an external perspective which could mirror a possible copy cat.

Morgan began to read through the details of the case. Evangeline Dwyer was reported missing four hours after her disappearance. The local PD had called the BAU in almost as soon as they had the case, which was protocol where missing children were concerned. An agent named Don Lavello had written a profile that centred on someone who was a predatory paedophile and had come into contact with Evangeline weeks, if not months before, and had stalked her since that time. This had been based on incidents occurring in previous weeks: pieces of Evangeline's clothing going missing, and evidence of an intruder before she was taken. Morgan flicked through the report and found the photos from when the body was discovered.

She had been identified through x-rays, the femur having an identical break in it as in Evangeline's medical records. No clothing was found with the bones. and the silver bracelet that had been a christening gift had never been discovered. She'd been dumped underneath some bushes at the edge of a field, probably not more than two weeks after going missing. The heat of a hot summer and the local animal population had accelerated decomposition, and she was found by a dog walker some five months later, just before the first snow. She was less than two miles from her house.

Morgan controlled the rage within him. There had been no call for ransom; although there could have been – the Dwyers were wealthy people. The suggestion of stalking seemed accurate, and Morgan agreed with Lavello's profile, especially with hindsight. Lavello would never have known how she was found. He'd died of a sudden heart attack two months before Evangeline's body had been located, a quick and relatively painless death compared to that of the victims he'd spent most of his life trying to help.

"Any connections between the two kids?" Reid said, pushing his chair back from the desk.

Morgan shrugged. "Both were from affluent families who lived in similar neighbourhoods. There's no connection in people who worked for the families, or what pre-schools they attended. I'll ask Garcia to look at connections in where clothes and other children's items were bought. We need to see what Emily gets from the mother about the days before the abduction. What've you got?"

Reid twisted his mouth to one side, an action that Morgan knew meant he was processing. "There wasn't a great deal of media interest. I'm guessing it was played down. No mention is made of Lavello's profile, and the suspicions that Evangeline was taken by a paedophile. In fact, there's no hint of the FBI even being involved in the case. It happened at the same time as Dwyer was under investigation for fraud. He was later cleared of all charges."

"Person in a position of power who is also in spot of bother," Morgan said. "Although it will be interesting to find out how many people know who Alfie's father actually is. I'm guessing it's not many."

Reid nodded, biting on a pen. "There has been recent media interest in Juliet Fletcher. What she is researching is fairly controversial, and she has been quite outspoken about it, causing criticism from some religious groups. Some articles mention that she is a single mom to a young son, but there's nothing to connect Juliet Fletcher to Geoff Thompson."

Morgan printed the pages he'd been looking at, catching sight of JJ heading towards them. "What's up?" he said. She looked flustered, and he cursed the person who was responsible for her being here instead of with Will and their son.

"I've been back through the cases that have been worked by the team and by individuals in the past ten years in the Washington area. There are two more abductions that seem remarkably similar: young child around the age of three, taken during the night from a home in an affluent area. The parents weren't in high profile, prominent positions, although they were in high powered roles," she said, standing next to them with one hand on her hip. The other pushed her hair away from her face.

"Did they ever find the children?" Morgan said, twisting round on his chair so he could see both JJ and Reid without straining his neck.

JJ shook her head. "Amber Livesy, the first child, was never found. Her family are still searching for her, and refuse to believe that she's dead , even though it's more than ten years ago. The second victim, Matthew Horsfield, was found in a field eight months after his disappearance. The remains were skeletonised. He was identified through dental records."

"Then it looks as if Matthew and Evangeline's murders are connected, even if the other two aren't. We may have to re-interview parents here." Morgan felt that dark sense of dread creeping into him. It was never good to have to bring up the past, even if there was a chance that a killer could be found.

Reid nodded. "I'd say that was likely. But I think we have to wait to see what Rossi and Emily get from the parents. How long ago were the other two cases, JJ?"

"Amber Livesy was taken in 1998, Matthew went missing in 2002," JJ said. "It seems weird that they're all around the same age."

Morgan stared blankly at his computer monitor as he thought. "Sexual offenders with an interest in children of that age rarely have a gender preference," he said. "Or we could be looking at an UnSub who abducts children to order." He wished that he lived in a world where such conversations didn't exist, where he could be unemployed and there would be no need for a crimes against children unit. But he didn't, and all he could hope to do was rid the country of the shits who committed such crimes.

"There could be another reason," Rossi said, having approached them almost silently.

"Man, they ought to put a bell around your neck," Reid said, and Morgan realised that he'd jumped enough to splash the cold mug of coffee he'd been nursing.

"My second wife tried it," Rossi said. "I learned to move without it ringing. Caught her in bed with her personal trainer."

Morgan raised his eyebrows, not sure how much to believe when it came to stories of Rossi and his wives. "What other reason have you come up with?"

Rossi paused before beginning, looking at each of them in turn. "Politics. You know there's every chance Geoff Thompson is being blackmailed. The lack of urgency after Alfie went missing could suggest that they suspect who has taken him, and aren't concerned for his safety per se. We need to watch Thompson carefully over the next few days and see what he does. I'm going to suggest that we keep him under surveillance. We'll need extra bodies to investigate this."

"You think we'll get any? Strauss has already said that this case has to stay within the BAU," Morgan said, feeling a mixture of frustration and hope. Without a police department working the case they would be severely understaffed, and with having their own case to look at as well, the pressure would tremendous.

"I think we'll have some agents seconded to us. They may well be from Mansfield's team and serve a dual purpose of keeping an eye on us, and assisting with the Fletcher case," Rossi said. He nodded towards the conference room. "Agent Boyd's arrived, by the way. He's talking with Hotch right now."

Reid turned a full three-sixty on his chair. "Do we know if Agent Mansfield's been called back from vacation?" he said. "I know he's away, but it's not every day that a department is targeted like this."

Rossi shrugged. "I would expect so. Mansfield has a cabin out of state where he goes fishing. I've borrowed it once or twice when I've needed to get away. There's no cell phone reception there at all, so we'll either have to wait for him to pick up his messages, or get in touch with the locals."

Morgan sighed in frustration. "And what I wouldn't give for a few days alone in a cabin with just a few fish to keep me company," he said. He would have added something about a hot woman too, but right now, he really did just want his own company. No one added it for him; he guessed his actions in Utah had taken away some of the humour, and a whisper of guilt echoed in his mind. "As it is, the prospect of catching up on paperwork sounds good to me at the moment. I'm just waiting for someone to wake me up and tell me that this is all a bad dream."

"Aren't we all?" said Rossi, looking towards the conference room door, from where Hotch had just appeared.

The sounds of boots echoing against the floor drew Morgan's attention to Emily, who was making her way to them at the same time as Hotch. She wore the same expression as the rest of the team, and Morgan knew she would be itching to put the investigation about them to one side and go speak to Alfie's mom. Every second that they were inside the BAU meant they were further from finding the missing boy.

Hotch got to them first, his eyes on Emily as she took the last few steps. "Agent Boyd is here with Agent Briscoe. They're going to talk us through what they've found so far. They want us to work up a profile by tonight, and between now and then, they want to speak with each of us separately – this is protocol. Morgan and I will work on a preliminary profile while the rest of you stay on the Alfie Fletcher case. We will go through both cases together over dinner, which we'll eat here."

"What about going home tonight, Hotch?" Reid said, standing up. "Will we be able to? Or are we staying somewhere else?"

"Agent Boyd will explain everything," Hotch said. "Ask him what you need to, but be aware that it is early in the investigation and there isn't much information yet. It could still have been a one off attack."

"Or it could just be the start," Morgan said. "I guess it's a case of only time will tell."

* * *

_Please review!_


	6. Chapter Five

_Thank you for the reviews, although I am a little worried as the number of reviews has decreased with each chapter – that is concerning! Please drop me a line to let me know you're there, even if it's just a word. You don't even have to be a member or log in to review – that's a hint for the lurkers!_

_Thanks to __**Chiroho**__ for the magnificent beta!_

_I'll be updating Sunday, and sending out a little extra to regular reviewers tomorrow or Saturday, and I have just had an idea for a fluffy oneshot, so keep your eyes peeled for that (which truly is the world's most disgusting expression!)_

_Thank you to Kim for going back and reviewing each chapter of Calverville Point, and to __xCailinNollaigx for her reviews for Calverville and Humanity._

_Have a great Easter weekend to those of you that celebrate it, and Chag Pesach Same'ach to those of you celebrating Passover._

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"Our very lives depend on the ethics of strangers, and most of us are always strangers to other people."

**- Bill Moyers**

**Chapter Five**

_November 11__th_

_She wondered what he would do later. There was no doubt in her mind that he wasn't going to bring her food or water. She was one of the ones on whom he wanted revenge, possibly the one he wanted the most. For a moment she felt scared for her safety, a feeling she had so far managed to ward off. She was one of his obsessions, one of his desires, part of a fantasy that would never be realised. So far, concern for the rest of the team had been at the forefront of her mind, but now the silence and his continual presence were beginning to wear her down. This was part of his strategy – she pulled words from the profile – he wanted to break them down, using their weaknesses, their fears. He sought his victims when they were at their weakest, toying with them like a hunter with its prey._

_A chuckle broke the silence. She looked over at him, waiting for him to speak, but he didn't. Instead he just sat there, smiling at her knowingly, toying with the detonator in his hands, the device that could kill someone somewhere else. She tried to will her fear to strength, willing herself to be calm. How could she talk him out of leaving the room? He would have to go at some point, to the bathroom, or to get food._

_The thought of the bathroom made her back ache. There was no provision for her. Luckily, she'd not eaten much in the past twenty four hours, but her kidneys were now aching slightly and she knew an infection was imminent. This was another way of making her suffer, another way of him taking his revenge._

_His cell phone rang, surprising both of them. He studied the screen before answering, checking to see who was calling._

"_Hi, honey," he said. "No, I haven't forgotten about dinner with your mom. I'll be back soon. It's been a busy day. Yeah, I know, they're all busy days." There was a pause then a laugh. "I'll see you in fifteen minutes, sweetheart. Yeah, you too."_

_He put the phone away in his jacket pocket then stood up, giving her a smile. "I guess duty calls," he said. "I'll see you in the morning – maybe." He ambled to the door, its weight screaming as he pulled it open. She wondered if she could overpower him when he came back later, or in the morning, but it was doubtful. Even if she could break free of the ropes, he'd threaten her with detonating the alleged bomb if she approached him._

_The alleged bomb. There was a chance it wasn't real, that it was simply a threat, like the many he'd already made. But she couldn't take that chance._

_Or could she – if it meant she could get out of there?_

* * *

November 4th

Agent Boyd was familiar; Emily recognised him instantly, the flame red hair and broad shoulders impossible to miss. She'd seen him several times and had, on one occasion, been stuck in an elevator with him for twenty minutes.

He gave her a quick nod as she entered the conference room, his face taut with worry, and she felt a mixture of concern and annoyance. It was looking likely that someone, probably one of Boyd's team, would have to make a trip to Agent Mansfield's cabin. They could have used the local PD, but as maintaining secrecy around both of the cases was essential, they would have to use their own manpower instead.

The rest of the team sat down around the table, their expressions grim. The Alfie Fletcher case would be enough to keep their minds off whatever else was happening, but it still felt as if a dark cloud was hovering over them, about to storm. Emily cast her eyes over Agent Boyd's colleague, a man she didn't know, and didn't think she had seen before. He was older, in his fifties, and slightly balding. He had a friendly, happy face, and something about him reassured her instantly.

"I'd just like to start by saying that we're sorry you have to be here today. I know you have better things to do, but hopefully we can catch whoever did this quickly and then everyday life can resume." Agent Boyd glanced around the table, looking at each of them in turn, and Emily knew that they all saw the same thing in his eyes; he didn't believe what he said - they had no leads and a solution within the next forty-eight hours was highly unlikely. She exchanged a look with JJ, who looked about ready to cry and Emily's concern increased. "I want to go through the events leading up to last night's attack, and then explain what we need to do from here. It's going to involve some inconvenience as you have probably already worked out." He pushed his lips together, an outward sign of his reluctance to continue speaking.

"Agent Boyd," Emily said. He needed to get over himself if this investigation was to progress quickly. "We don't blame you or your team for any of what's happened. I'm sure you followed the correct procedures with the letter that was sent to Agent Jareau. Please don't worry about our reactions, and just tell us what we need to know and what we can do."

He sent her a look of thanks and seemed to relax a little. "This is Agent Sylvester, a new addition to our team, and I'll explain more about his role later." He gave a sharp exhalation of breath, almost a sigh, and Emily could feel the pressure he was under in his boss' absence. "A letter was received by Agent Jareau's partner a few days ago containing threats against every member of the team. The letter – would you mind passing the copy round?" He gestured to Agent Sylvester. "Was of a particular style; disjointed, non-fluent, almost as if someone was ranting."

"So you dismissed it after making enquiries to see if any other threats had been made in the past twenty four months that were delivered in the same way and had the same tone," Rossi said, leaning forward. "We wrote the procedure and the checklist of things to look for. I would guess that this person knew that the letter would be dismissed, while at the same time creating a small amount of panic – hence he chose to send it to the home address of a team member."

Boyd nodded. "We did exactly that. If there had been anything that suggested more of a committed threat then Agent Mansfield wouldn't have gone on vacation. I'll continue with what happened last night: there was clearly no intent to kill; rather to injure and scare. The explosive at Agent Rossi's residence was designed to have only cause damage that would inconvenience Agent Rossi. The explosive that we controlled the explosion of at Agent Hotchner's apartment was exactly the same. The tampering with Agent Morgan's car to make it look as if a bomb had been put there was done by someone who knew exactly what they were doing. No footage has been caught on any security camera, and as you know, that's a feat in itself."

Emily felt Morgan shift restlessly next to her. "So what are your next steps? I know our apartments have been searched. Are you able to trace the letter – the printer, or where it was mailed?"

"The letter was sent from the zip code in which Agent Jareau lives. The printer is one you'd find in any house or small business; the same with the paper. If there were any significant details, we'd have been tracking down a suspect by now," Agent Boyd said, disgruntled. "We've gone through the list of usual suspects. There are a handful of people who we routinely check when a threat like this is made. For one reason or another they bear a grudge against the Bureau, or specific agents or departments, and we keep a close eye on them. None of them look to be even remotely connected with this. We do, however, have several avenues to pursue. Your technical analyst will begin looking through a list of chat rooms and websites related to such attempts and explosives. The bomb used was put together well, by someone who knew what they were doing, but we don't believe they were an expert – you'll see the details in the report; the construction was rushed. We're also going to monitor your email – all email addresses, and if there are any that we don't have on record please pass them to us. It may be that you have been stalked for some time."

Something triggered a connection in Emily's brain; separate thoughts were woven together. "Our phones," she said, almost blurting it out. "Our cell phones have been breaking up or not working in places where there has previously been reception. I know sometimes the quality of reception can waver, but it's happened to several of us over the last few weeks."

A nod went round the table.

Agent Boyd looked almost pleased. "I'll have it looked into immediately. We'll have new phone numbers set up for you within a couple of hours. I just ask that you only let essential people know what they are, and you keep a tab on who has your number."

Hotch nodded. "You think this is likely to be a personal attack rather than a vendetta?"

Agent Boyd shrugged. "You're the profilers, you tell me. Your profile will be of the utmost importance here, and we will use it to place our resources in the right areas. I need to go through some security precautions with you now, as it's my unit's job to keep you safe.

"For the time being you all need to maintain your normal routines as much as possible; if you go to the gym every day at five, then continue to do so. I know I don't need to explain why – you wrote the handbook on this. However, there are certain things you need to do. We recommend you stay together in pairs, and enter your apartments and houses as you would enter a property containing a threat. Please keep me, or Agent Sylvester, informed of your movements – that doesn't mean where you are every second, but where you're staying, restaurants etcetera. We need to know if we can't get in touch with you whatever the reason might be." He looked around the group again.

Emily tuned out slightly, needing to process what had already been said. They had to keep the same routine as a change in it could trigger the UnSub's behaviour, either sending him to ground, or escalating his actions. Until they caught him, their independence would be restricted, and even though she wasn't the type to go out partying until the small hours of the morning, she knew a sense of claustrophobia would tie itself to her until this was over.

"We need a list as soon as possible of all names you would consider to be suspects," Agent Boyd said. "We can then start to eliminate them immediately. Do any come straight to mind?"

There was a silence as everyone thought, allowing the faint noise of rain against the windows to become noticeable.

"Harold Tevez," Rossi said. "He holds a grudge against the BAU, and me in particular. He had an obsession with Terri Cryer, who I had a relationship with some time ago. You'll have his correspondence on record somewhere in your archives. He had a very obsessive personality; once he'd served the two months from breaking the injunction against him, he became interested in trains and a girl who worked in the ticket office in his local station. He could well have switched back to us if there has been a trigger event, and that could well be something as innocuous as a quote in the newspapers."

Agent Boyd jotted down a few notes and nodded at Rossi. "Anyone else? We will be speaking to each of you individually, and I'm aware that you have this other case to work on."

"Liam Carrere," Hotch said. "He's been brought in on two separate occasions, both in connection with a series of minor explosions on dignitaries houses. He has a morbid fascination with bombs, and has admitted to fantasizing about what it would be like to be a suicide bomber, or to have several timed explosives tied to him. He hates the BAU as he feels we "stifle creativity by putting it in a textbook." The explosion from last night would be his style."

Boyd nodded again, his hand producing something that looked like hieroglyphics in his notebook.

JJ looked like she was about to speak, but stopped before the words came out.

"What is it, Agent Jareau?" Boyd said, looking concerned.

"Should I arrange for my partner and little boy to go on vacation for a couple of weeks?" she said. "Maybe go spend some time with family?"

Emily felt her heart ache for her friend. She knew JJ had been missing Will and Henry tremendously in the past few days. To have them go off now, especially when dealing with a missing child case, could push her over the edge.

Agent Boyd shook his head. "Your house wasn't interfered with, and is probably one of the safest given that your partner is there so much during the day. I would increase your security, and we'll be sending someone round at least once a day to double check for any anomalies. They can stay put at the moment."

JJ gave him a weak smile, throwing Emily a look that said more than words ever could have. Emily wondered whether she should mention to Hotch about JJ's suspected state of mind, although she assumed he would have already noticed it.

Agent Boyd stood up, closing his notebook, that Emily noticed was a moleskin. It looked new, as if it had been bought especially for this case, a way to make himself feel more important and worthy of being in charge, however temporarily. "I'm going to stay here, and we'll ask you to come in and answer a few questions. I promise to take up as little of your time as possible. Agent Rossi, can we see you first? And Agent Prentiss, if you can come after that – we know you have other urgent business to attend to."

She gave him a quick nod and followed Hotch out of the door into the bullpen. It was quiet outside, with none of the usual hubbub and noise. The lack of conversation made it seem eerie, and a shiver went through her.

"Emily – can I see you in my office for a moment?" Hotch said, looking strained. She followed him in, closing the door behind her. She had an idea what this was going to be about.

"We're going to be questioned about our relationship," he said without sitting down. "Strauss is going to want to know why I was at your apartment last night instead of my own."

"There could be any number of reasons," Emily said, feeling indignant, her heart sinking at the same time. Were they going to have to end it before it had even begun?

Hotch nodded. "There are, but she's not stupid. She already knows something's going on. I suggest we're honest about it."

"But they can hang us for it, Aaron," she said, using his first name. This was no professional conversation; it was personal.

He looked straight ahead, not meeting her eyes. "At this moment in time, I doubt that Strauss will mention it to anyone else. Her affair's just gone public; he's left his wife. She has enough to deal with right now with the Alfie Fletcher case, the attack on us, and Morgan's issues back in Utah. I suspect she'll turn a blind eye."

"But what if she doesn't?" Emily said, feeling panic grow within her.

"I'll deal with it. Be honest with Agent Boyd about what's been happening between us. It may be that the UnSub is aware of our relationship already," Hotch said.

Her mind took the same paths that his had done already. "He knew you weren't going home last night," she said. "That's what you think, isn't it?"

He was quiet for a second and then nodded. "If I was going home, there would be a chance I would have Jack with me. Plus I live in an apartment building, and an explosion there would risk others. He knew when he sent the letter to JJ that Will would intercept it. I imagine that by now Will has spent a small fortune on the security at their house, and the UnSub knew that that would be the outcome. He's not interested in hurting anyone indirectly. If he'd have targeted Morgan's place, then he risked Morgan bringing someone back with him. JJ's, and he risks Will or Henry being hurt. Rossi is predictable, as is Reid."

"As am I. He could get two birds with one stone where we're concerned, Hotch," she said, leaning against his desk.

He raised his eyebrows at her again. "He could, but he won't. Both you and Reid are in apartment buildings – others could possibly be injured too. He's not a random killer; everything he does has been well thought out and has a purpose. At the moment, his objective is not to kill, but to torture."

"You already have a profile," she said, more of a thought out loud. "Then why is he doing this?"

"I don't know, yet," Hotch said. "But it's someone who knows us well, and has access to information about where we are and what we're doing. If our cell phones have been tampered with and he's been listening to our conversations, he'll know how to torture us best, as well as being proficient with technology."

Emily nodded, feeling suddenly weary. It was a feeling she knew she was going to have to battle. "Are you staying at my place for the next few days?" she said, wondering if the cloud did have a scrap of silver lining sewn somewhere in its darkness.

"If that's okay," Hotch said. "I've already been in touch with Haley and told her what's happening. She's taking Jack to her cousin's in Montreal, which she was going to do in a few days anyway. I'll go with Agent Sylvester later to pick up some clothes."

She gave him as good a smile as she could muster. "We're in for another tough ride," she said, wishing that it was a ride, and one that she could press the emergency button and get off.

Hotch nodded. "We are," he said. "I just hope we can all get through it okay."

Emily left his office, seeing Strauss emerge from her own. On a less busy day, when the sword of Damocles wasn't hanging over their heads, Garcia would have Photoshopped Strauss as the wicked witch, her nose developing warts, her eyes bulging and teeth rotten. The day would not allow for that, as the face of Alfie Fletcher reminded her when she opened the file; and another box inside her head. She just hoped that the label on it didn't say 'Pandora's'. But maybe that was already open.

* * *

_Don't forget to review! They're better than Easter eggs!_

_Sarah x_


	7. Chapter Six

_I'm posting this before doing replies for the last chapter as I'll be including an extra special something to those that have been reviewing lots. I'll reply and send a little extra scene at some point between today and tomorrow. I'm just about to go out now with the in-laws for a meal, hence the delay._

_Thank you for the reviews for Chapter Five – they were very encouraging! Please keep it up!!!!_

_Thank you to __**Chiroho**__ for the beta._

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"If you reveal your secrets to the wind you should not blame the wind for revealing them to the trees."

**- Kahlil Gibran**

**Chapter Six**

_November 11__th_

_Silence brought no comfort or kindness. The stone grey walls gave away no secrets, and shared no warmth. She shivered, trying to push away memories of a warm bed, a warm home, and steeled resolve within herself, bracing for a long night._

_This was a form of torture. She knew he had planned it carefully, knowing what would most upset her. The small room, the bound hands, the enclosed space. It reminded her of North Mamon, and the three girls who'd been kept locked in a basement, having to chose which one lived. That choice wasn't necessary here; she just had to decide on her actions without knowing their consequences._

_Her fingers were numb with the cold and lack of movement. If she could loosen the ties and break free, she could sit and wait for him when he entered, catch him off guard, off balance and somehow get past him. But then she wouldn't know where she was, or how to get back home - or to the BAU._

_Yet she couldn't be reliant on him as she was now. It had been nearly twenty four hours since he'd taken her, captured her like a butterfly in a net, then doused her with a poison that had prevented any memories of the journey._

_She pulled at the ropes that tied her to the chair. They bound like an attacking snake around her wrists. Then suddenly she stopped; reclaiming sanity. Craning her neck, she looked at the tie on her right hand. If she could manipulate the rope to gain some slack, she could eventually free her hand. And once her right hand was free, she could untie herself. _

_As long as he didn't come back._

_Cold sweat fell across her forehead, her hair clinging to her face. She didn't notice, intent on freeing herself. She hadn't eaten for over a day, and couldn't remember the last time she'd had a drink. The pain in her kidneys was now sharp, the familiar signs of an infection clear. How much time had passed since she had begun her task she didn't know; time no longer seemed relevant. And then there was a fierce pull, before the slackness of release. One hand was free._

* * *

November 4th

It was just another chapter in a story that already had quite a few chapters, or at least that was how David Rossi tried to think of it. He'd been on the planet long enough to be accepting of what life threw at him, rather than begrudging of the challenges that were placed in his way. Only tonight life's latest meant that he would be staying at Morgan's apartment, in a spare room, with decor that was far too modern for him, instead of being back in Calverville Point with Jolene, as had been the plan.

When – not if – he got to spend ten minutes alone with whoever had decided it was a good idea to de-window the front of his house, spoil the next few days, and generally make a menace of themselves, he'd make sure they developed better ideas about what fun actually was.

As it was, he was now in his car on his way to see a man about a dog; at least that was what he was doing as far as anyone outside of the BAU was concerned. Geoff Thompson lived about twenty minutes drive from Quantico, but his need for secrecy and sense of paranoia now meant that Rossi was driving forty miles to a remote cabin that Thompson owned.

Even though the weather was dull and wet, the scenery was still something to be grateful for once he'd gotten out of the city and was seeing a different set of trees than the ones in Quantico. Trees and fields lined the side of the roads, which were quiet, and he was able to drive above the legal limit. The life of a small boy was at stake here; if his disappearance was connected with Evangeline Dwyer's and the other two children, then Rossi guessed they had another eleven days in which to find him. No more.

He had his own suspicions about the boy's disappearance, and would have put half his bank balance on there being some sort of withholding of information, probably at the insistence of the father. And that would be this afternoon's task; to alleviate that blockage in whatever way he could.

A sign came up a little too quickly, and Rossi took a sharp left turn that would have made Reid turn green, had he been in the car. For the next mile and a half, Rossi ran through the information he had given Agent Boyd about any aspects of his life which might have given someone motive to harm him and the rest of the team. It had taken a while, probably longer than anyone else would spend in their confession.

There hadn't been any sins that triggered a possible motive, for him anyway. Boyd and his buddy may have other ideas. He'd met enough psychos to know when one wanted to cause harm to him personally, or even the rest of the team. There was the chance that they were being targeted because of Prentiss, and her mother being who she was. Threats had been made against her in the past, although not for a long time since her parents' roles were now less prominent.

A fox sprinted across the road causing Rossi to brake; the deceleration allowing him to notice the cabin in the distance. He focused his thoughts on what he knew of the Alfie Fletcher case so far, and the profile of his biological father that he had prepared in his head.

An BMW X5 sat next to the cabin, the shiny alloy wheels catching the faint midday sun. Tinted windows showed a driver who valued his privacy, but who also liked the curiosity that it created about who exactly was inside.

Rossi knocked on the door and called out to Mr. Thompson, seeing movement through the window. The man who answered looked older than in the pictures Google had provided; dark hair was peppered with grey, and whatever skin products he was using hadn't been doing their job.

"Agent Rossi?" he said, holding open the door.

Rossi flashed his badge and stepped in, taking note of his surroundings. "Mr Thompson. We spoke on the phone." The cabin was furnished smartly though without any feminine touches. The sofas were of black leather, the slight covering of dust of the arms showing how little the cabin was used at this time of year. The head of a stag was mounted on wall; Mr. Thompson making his masculinity as prominent as he could, and a state of the art sound system was discreetly displayed in a corner near a well stocked drinks cabinet. "May I sit?"

Geoff Thompson nodded, sitting on the chair that was perpendicular to the sofa.

"I need to go through some details with you if we're to make any progress into finding out who has your son. I understand some of these questions may be difficult for you; however, I need you to answer them as honestly as you can. Time is of the essence here, as I am sure you are aware." Rossi looked at Thompson's face to gage his reaction. None came.

"I don't have a close bond with Alfie," he said. "Myself and Juliet decided it would be best that way."

Agent Rossi nodded. "I understand what you're saying, Mr Thompson, but my questions aren't really to do with your bond with your son. I need to know various details about your private life; your enemies and potential enemies and anything unusual that you may have noticed in the past few days."

Thompson avoided eye contact. "Then let's get started. I'm sure we both have things to do. I don't see how I could have any useful information for you, Agent Rossi, if no one knows that Alfie is mine."

Rossi wondered whether his naivety was falsified or whether he really was that stupid. He had known politicians and would-be politicians before who thought themselves untouchable. "It's highly unlikely that no one knows, Mr Thompson, however careful you've been. How long have you been seeing Ms. Butler?"

"Five years," Thompson said, seeming bored already. "It's never been a love affair; just one that's serviced our needs. Juliet doesn't want to be married – she likes to create the persona of an independent female. I give her the best of both worlds."

Rossi could think of a few names he would give Thompson. "How did you meet?"

"At a dinner organized by the company she was working for at the time. I was a guest. If you want the finer details we ended up fucking in the disabled toilets before the main course was served. My wife was in Canada with her mother at the time," Thompson said, toying with an empty whisky dram that had been left on the coffee table.

Rossi raised his eyebrows. He could assume that colleagues of both parties had noticed something. Any help that Juliet Butler employed in her home would also be aware of her relationship, as would neighbours, or anyone watching. "Mr Thompson, are you involved in any disputes at the moment that would cause someone to try to hurt you personally?"

"I'm in politics, Agent Rossi. Yes, of course I am. But if you want someone who has a major grievance, look at what Juliet's been up to recently. She sure has been Ms. Controversial," he said, standing up and making his way over to the drinks cabinet, pulling out a bottle of scotch. "Want some?"

Rossi shook his head. "No thanks – I have to drive." He paused, letting Thompson feel as if he had control. "Do you not care that your little boy has been abducted?"

"You think I'm some kind of heartless bastard?"

"I don't know. I've only just met you. But you don't seem too concerned about finding him. Do you know something that makes you believe he isn't in danger of being harmed?" Rossi kept his manner calm.

Thompson shrugged. "I guess I think some funny group have got him because of what Ju's up to."

"You're certain of that?" Rossi said.

There was a nod as Thompson took a sip of the Scotch. "Pretty much. I mean kids from affluent areas don't get snatched by paedophiles do they? It's the kids who are left unattended by parents who should have been neutered at birth who are taken, isn't it?"

Rossi shook his head. "Any child is at risk. Paedophiles can be notoriously clever in how they take a child. They will watch them for days or weeks or months before taking them. You remember the abduction and murder of Evangeline Dwyer, don't you?" Thompson nodded. "She lived just two miles away from Alfie. In an affluent area, to very wealthy parents. Money does not make a child immune."

Thompson now looked slightly greyer as he stared into his scotch. "You think that's what's happened to Alfie?"

"I don't know," Rossi said, keeping his voice low and quiet, hoping to create a sense of tension and worry within Thompson. "Maybe. We don't have enough information, and we're starting this investigation three days late. Usually, when a child goes missing, we act as soon as we are informed. Your secrecy could have compromised Alfie's life." His words were harsh, exactly as he intended.

"But I can't risk my relationship with Juliet becoming public knowledge," Thompson said. "And it probably is one of those nut jobs she's antagonised. I'll write down a list of people that I think might seek to harm me in some way, Agent Rossi. However, I think you'll find that it's a waste of your time. This isn't anything to do with me."

"Like Alfie isn't anything to do with you?" Rossi said, unable to keep the distaste from his tone now.

Thompson laughed quietly. "Alfie's Juliet's, not mine. I don't even know that he is _mine_ anyway. Anyway, I'd appreciate some time alone. You have my number, and cell reception here's good. Please call me if you have any news." He stood up, Rossi taking his cue to stand too. "And I would appreciate the complete discretion of both yourself and your team in this, Agent Rossi, or you might find _your _past coming back to haunt you."

Rossi nodded, making his way to the door. "I'll be in touch, Mr Thompson," he said, not offering him his hand. "You watch out for those old ghosts too."

He walked down the pathway, back to his car, the scenery suddenly seeming more wintered than golden, and he wondered whether it was to do with the presence of the man inside.

* * *

The house was shielded by a large wrought iron fence and dense shrubbery. The gates were electric, opened by a code or through someone in the house granting access. Security was good, but Emily had seen better levels breached in the past. There was nothing here that suggested only an insider could have taken the boy.

Emily pressed the button to gain access, explaining her identity to the woman who answered. She'd parked on the road, a little down from the house, wanting the opportunity to get a feel for the area on foot. People thought their homes were secure, that their children were protected, but they had seen too many times that this wasn't the case. If someone wanted to break in, they would. All it took was planning; a few weeks of surveillance, watching, noticing routines, and it could easily be done.

The driveway had recently been re-paved, a pattern imprinted concrete that looked expensive. The garden around it was carefully manicured; bushes and shrubs were kept tidy, the flowers and plants giving colour, but no sense of personality. Emily had already gotten the feel for the type of woman that lived here; busy with appearances to keep up, and probably with a sense of guilt for having a career and a child.

The front door was already open; a woman standing there waiting, her hands in pockets and an exhausted expression on her face. Emily knew from the brief research she had been doing that this was Juliet Butler, although she was a shadow of the woman that had been portrayed in the photos Emily had seen. Her skin had a greyish hue, her face was drawn and her cheekbones too prominent. She gave a half hearted smile as Emily showed her badge, a brief gesture of her hand beckoning Emily into the house.

As she expected, it was decorated to a high standard, though like the garden it lacked any individuality. The owner's personality was absent from the beige furnishings and cream sofa; the red curtains that hung at the window providing a warmth in colour that could not be felt. Emily shivered, although it didn't feel that cold.

"Shall we go into the kitchen?" Ms. Fletcher said, clearly having noticed the shiver. "I've just been making bread so it's fairly warm in there." The statement surprised Emily; she would never have expected this woman to make her own bread, but the smell of it, and the flash of flour on her jeans proved her words.

"That would be good," she said, following Ms. Fletcher through the living room into a large dine-in kitchen. Remnants of her baking lay on the counters, yet to be tidied away. "You didn't strike me as a woman who would make her own bread," Emily said, deciding that honesty would be the best way forward here.

Ms. Fletcher shook her head. "I guess I'm not, really. It's a comfort thing. My mom used to make bread when I was sick from school, so it reminds me of being taken care of." There was another watery smile. "I've made four different types – started at four this morning. Couldn't sleep." She sat down on one of the breakfast stools next to Emily. "Ask me what you need to know."

Emily nodded, understanding the necessity for directness. "Why has it taken so long for you to report your son's abduction?"

There was a sigh and blurred eyes looked away. "We can't risk the public finding out about Geoff's affair with me. We also thought he'd be back by now."

"Do you think you know who has taken him?" Emily said, perturbed by the lack of panic. It was almost as if she had given up.

Ms. Fletcher shook her head. "I know Geoff is certain that it's someone from an anti-stem cell research group called Relight Your Conscience. I've been receiving hate mail from one particular member for about nine months, and he has made direct threats against me."

Emily felt a slight weight lift off her shoulders. This could be a viable suspect, and hopefully one who would do no harm to Alfie. "Do you still have the correspondence?" she said.

The other woman looked at the floor and gave a wry smile. "No," she said. "I knew I should have kept it, but it made me so angry each time I received a letter I would throw it into the fire – send it to hell, I suppose. You could have used those letters to see if he was capable of following through on those threats, couldn't you?"

Emily gave a quick nod; there was no point in lying. "What's his name – the person sending these letters?"

"It's not a man," Ms. Fletcher looked up. "It's a woman. Jennifer Keeley. She lives four blocks away on Charing Avenue. The private investigator we employed did a thorough check on her. He said she has been away in Dallas for the past ten days as there's a right to life demonstration going on there."

Emily felt the weight sink back down, a little heavier this time. "Ms. Fletcher, has anything unusual caught your attention over the past few months? Anyone hanging around outside occasionally? Any cars you don't recognise that have been parked on the street from time to time?"

Ms. Fletcher thought for a moment. "There's nothing that I've noticed, but you might be best speaking to Janine – she's Alfie's nanny. I'm away a lot with my job, and I often have work to do at night, so I employ someone to help. She's very good with him, and he adores her." Emily could see the justification going on inside her head, trying to make herself believe that she wasn't a bad mother; and Emily certainly wasn't going to judge her on what she did.

"I would like to speak with her once we're finished," Emily said. "Tell me about Alfie. What does he like doing? What sort of child is he?"

Juliet Fletcher brushed tears away before they had the chance to fall. "He's a sweet boy – but every mother would say that, wouldn't they? He's quiet and shy, not good with strangers. He likes animals and playing by himself. He invents games, and has an imaginary friend called Ronny, who he says has a dog called Humphrey. He's bright, but not a genius child – his milestones came at the right times, not before. He forms strong bonds with people he likes, and is upset when he has to leave them. He adores Janine, and even though I am away a lot, especially at the moment, he's always over the moon to see me. He never sulks when I have to go to work, but he always says that he can't wait for me to get home. I guess he's accepting of it now." She looked up at Emily. "You probably think I'm a terrible mother; but I do the best for him that I can. I'm not good at making up games and playing let's pretend, but Jan is. When I'm here, I do make time for him when I don't answer my phone or check emails, and we might go out somewhere for the day. I wonder if I should try to clone myself and then I can do everything – ironic given my line of work."

Emily could think of another woman who would like that possibility too. JJ was in a similar position with Henry, but she had Will to be there, and JJ's decision to keep working the job she loved had resulted in a closer bond between son and father than usually expected. A bond that Hotch wished he had with Jack. "I think a lot of women feel that way," Emily said. "When did Alfie start to mention his imaginary friend?"

"About seven months ago," Ms. Fletcher said after some thought. "We started getting some garbled sentences about Ronny, and every so often he mentions him – usually when he's been playing outside in the yard."

"Has Alfie mentioned anything that struck you as unusual?" Emily said, wondering if Rossi was getting as much information from Alfie's father.

"No," Ms. Fletcher said, shaking her head. "Nothing that I can remember."

Emily gave her a soft smile. "I need to ask you some things about your relationship with Geoff Thompson, and his involvement with Alfie. What is your relationship like?" The question was purposely open. She would ask specific questions when she had more background, and she wanted to see what Juliet Fletcher offered without prompting.

"We see each other maybe twice every three weeks. He'll come over here for an evening, or if his wife's away, he may stay for a night. He leaves early so as not to be seen, and sometimes he'll park at a hotel or managed parking lot and I'll pick him up from there. It stops suspicion from rising," she said, her foot tapping silently on the metal bar at the bottom of the stool.

Emily could tell there was some reluctance to share a great deal, and she could understand why. Juliet had become accustomed to secrecy, and it would take a great deal of persuasion to break that down. "What do you get from your relationship?"

"What do you mean?" Ms. Fletcher said. "Isn't it obvious what I get from it?" She was on the defensive immediately, protective, and Emily could see the insecurities she had about Geoff Thompson.

"Different relationships serve different purposes, Ms. Fletcher. A man who is married will still have a relationship with his wife even if he is having an affair. A woman may be involved with two different men at the same time, but each will provide her with something different," Emily said. She'd taken this explanatory role on purpose; Juliet Fletcher was an intelligent woman and would be more likely to confide and disclose information if she understood why she was giving it.

Ms. Fletcher nodded. "Agent Prentiss; please understand that I am not your average woman. I don't want a man around full time to be a wife to. Occasionally, however, I do want a man's company. Geoff is available just enough; he's attractive, intelligent, and leaves before breakfast. That's the nature of our relationship – good company without any strings."

"Isn't your son a connection that makes it more than that?" Emily said, wanting to get a handle on Thompson's relationship with his son from her perspective.

She rested her head in a hand, pulling slightly at the chestnut hair. "No. I got pregnant on purpose, and no, I didn't discuss it with Geoff. I wanted a child, and he seemed like a good biological father. We agreed early on that he would give me some support financially, but Alfie wouldn't know who his father was, and he'd keep his distance. He asks about him occasionally, but I think he doesn't let himself think about Alfie that much. It sounds harsh, but it does work." Her face creased, and a look of pain crossed her face. "I just want him back. I just want whoever has him to give him back to me. He'll be so frightened without me or Janine."

Emily put a hand on Ms. Fletcher's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Why didn't you contact the police sooner? There was no need to say who Alfie's father was."

Ms. Fletcher looked up at her and shook her head. "Geoff was here the night Alfie was taken. I'd have to tell the police that. Geoff's paranoid about someone finding out about us, and then selling the information to the media. It would ruin his career and his marriage."

"There's no question of him leaving his wife anyway?" Emily said.

"None. He doesn't want to. They were childhood sweethearts and he's very fond of her. She's a good wife. I could never be a 'good wife' and I wouldn't want to. Besides, he has an image of a family man, and yes, you may think it's all a facade, but he needs it to do his job," she said, with a defensive note in her tone again.

Emily didn't question Ms. Fletcher's opinion. It's wasn't why she was here. "There's no chance that his wife knows about you and Alfie, is there?"

There was a shrug. "She must know Geoff's having an affair," she said. "She isn't stupid, and if you're thinking she may be implicated in Alfie's disappearance I think you're wasting your time."

"It's still a possibility," Emily said. "Finding out a secret as huge as Alfie could cause someone to do something that they wouldn't otherwise come close to considering. We'll have to investigate that line, but we will do it discreetly so that Mrs. Thompson isn't aware of it."

"You'll interview her?" There was fear there now.

"No," Emily said. "We can use other means to track her recent movements." And by that she was thinking of Garcia. Emily doubted that Geoff Thompson's wife had anything to do with the disappearance; there were other ways for a wife to take revenge, but as no suspects were standing out every possibility would need to be pursued. "Can I see Alfie's room?"

Ms. Fletcher nodded, standing up. "It's this way. You're sure this will be kept quiet?" she said as Emily followed her through the lounge and into the hallway.

"We can't guarantee anything, Ms. Fletcher. Our priority is to get Alfie back safe. But we will our utmost to be discreet," Emily said, noticing the hardwood flooring. "Is this new?" She gestured to her feet.

"Yes, it was done about two months ago," Ms Fletcher said, walking slowly up the stairs as if she had little energy left to spare.

"While I have a look in Alfie's room, I'd like you to write down the names of any companies or workmen you've employed in the past year to do work on your house," Emily said. "And anyone who comes here on a regular basis such as a gardener or pool boy."

Ms. Fletcher bit her lips together, standing at the top of the stairs. "You think it may be a paedophile, or stranger who's taken him?" she said. "Not someone seeking revenge on me?"

"We don't know," Emily said. "We have to look at everything."

"Oh God," she said, crumbling to the floor. "We thought it was Jennifer Keeley, and that she'd taken him as a protest. That's why Geoff said we didn't need to rush bringing you in. It was only when we found out that she'd been away... oh God, he could be dead..."

Emily crouched down next to her. "We are going to find Alfie," Emily said. "You need to be strong. Where's Janine? She may be able to help you list people who have been in the house." She tried to focus her, to pull her out of the mire she was tumbling into.

"She's probably in her room, down the corridor," she said, pointing towards the other side of the house.

"I go get her," Emily said, the heel of her boot sinking noiselessly into soft carpet. It was going to be another long day.

* * *

"Dinner will be ready in five minutes," Martha Moore said to her husband who was watching TV with his feet up. "Don't forget, it's your turn to fill the dishwasher."

He turned around and gave her the same smile she'd fallen in love with just a few years before. She'd never thought she'd remarry, not after how she'd been treated by Kelvin. She'd thought she was done with men as soon as her divorce had come through, but then she'd met John. He was kind and considerate; he worked hard and appreciated the little things she did for him. Why his first wife had left him, she didn't understand. Maybe she was now together with Kelvin – they would deserve each other.

"You cooked, so I guess that's only fair," he said, switching off the TV. "I do need to run out after dinner though. I told Keith I'd stop in and give him directions on how to get to that new fishing tackle shop, and you know how he is – I'll have explain it at least three times."

Martha laughed and he followed her into the kitchen, opening the cabinet in the dresser and pulling out the placemats. It was the little things like that she appreciated. "You're not going to go fishing with him?" she said, turning off the over. "I'm seeing my mother tomorrow, and I can't see you wanting to come. She's discovered the joy of knitting."

He gave her another smile. "Well, if it's okay with you I might tell Keith that so he needn't worry with how to find the shop. We can leave early, get the tackle and have a day's fishing. You never know, I might bring you something back for dinner." He came up to her, wrapping his arms around her still slim waist.

She giggled softly, leaning back into him. "My very own caveman," Martha said, inhaling his scent. "I could find that quite an aphrodisiac!"

He rubbed her shoulders and stepped away, taking out the silverware and beginning to set the table. She smiled again, not quite believing her luck.

* * *

_Please review – your thoughts on what's going on are very interesting!! And lurkers, delurk – just press the button that says 'review'!_

_Sarah x_


	8. Chapter Seven

_Thank you for the reviews and comments about the extra scene. There'll be another extra scene at some point soon instead of a review reply._

_Thanks once more to __**Chiroho**__ for the beta._

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"There is only one difference between a madman and me. I am not mad."

**- Charlotte Bronte**

**Chapter Seven**

_November 12th_

_She sat in the corner, near the door, exhausted. Sleep could not come; its presence was unwelcome, however much her body was demanding it. The past week had taken its toll on every member of the team; secrets had been revealed, private practises exposed, and they'd still had to deal with a case that had twisted like a snake – and with as much venom. But she couldn't sleep, for she knew that as soon as her eyes closed, he would return._

_He had a wife, that was clear. They'd been right about that in the profile. And the conclusion they'd reached about his place of work was also correct. They knew him, though not well though. Certainly not as well as he knew them._

_Every single one of them._

_But she was his target. She was the reason for the things he had done, and she would have to live with that guilt. But she knew that was one of his forms of torture._

_She rubbed at her wrists that were still chaffed from the rope. It was possible that he meant for her to untie them, to break free. He could well be expecting her to be lying in wait for him the next time he opened the door._

_The door was a secure one, and it looked new. She had figured there were about five different bolts, which accounted for the time it took him to unlock the door. A dagger of pain flicked from her kidneys and she winced. He would know about her propensity for infections there, he would have read it in her file. _

_A strong sense of hatred and indignation sprang from her, enough to provide another boost of energy. That was all she was running on; the emotions she could conjure up from her situation, from her friends' situation, from Sophie's._

_It was a cruel act, to take her, after everything she had already been through. But he knew that of course, knew every detail about the case in Calverville Point, and although he had no desire to hurt Sophie directly – they knew he empathised with her – she was the perfect bait and the most faultless way to cause pain for Emily. Emily – someone else he blamed._

_She stiffened her back, trying to block out the agony that was threatening to double her over. If she could just wrong foot him, just catch him off guard, then maybe she could slip through the door and get out of there._

_But would he then use that remote control and detonate whatever cruel plan his brain had been devising over the past five years?_

_She waited. Right now, it was all she could do._

* * *

November 4th

Hotch looked out from the window of his office at the scene in the bullpen below. Morgan and Reid were leaning over Reid's computer, reading something on the screen which seemed important. Emily was seated next to Garcia at her workstation, pointing at a piece of paper that Garcia had just brought over. Rossi wasn't back yet, and JJ was still with Agents Boyd and Sylvester, and had been for about an hour. He knew from what Agent Boyd had said earlier that they were going to interview each member of the team about their colleagues, as getting other perceptions could highlight something important. There was no guarantee that what they said would remain confidential.

He was worried; not just for the safety of the team, but for their capacity to cope with what was now happening and a case during which none of them would rest. Missing children were the worst, whatever the motive and whoever the UnSub. JJ, he could tell, was almost at breaking point. During the snatched few minutes he and Emily had stolen earlier, she'd voiced her concerns, reinforcing the conclusion Hotch had already reached. He wanted her to take a back seat in this case; to stay within the confines of the Academy building itself, and leave the interviewing and footwork to the rest of them.

And there was going to be a lot of that.

Without a local police department on the case, they were going to have to do a lot of the leg work themselves. Strauss had managed to commandeer four other officers, who were going to be supervised by Rossi. One of them, an Agent Harriet McKintyre, had been sent to Ms. Fletcher's house to remain with her. She'd worked on the Hostage Rescue Team for four years, so was used to similar situations, and there was no question of her discretion. The other three agents began tomorrow; their role would be discussed over dinner.

He left his office and went down the steps to the bullpen, eyes automatically looking up at him; they were conditioned to assume that his presence meant something had come up.

"Can we meet in ten minutes?" he said, looking round at them all. "We need to go through what we know so far - on all accounts."

"What about Rossi?" Morgan said. "How long's he going to be?"

"I'll call him now," Hotch said. "He went to speak with the private detective, but that was nearly three hours ago. He should be back soon." He found that he was slightly agitated by Rossi's lack of communication, and was trying to put it down to paranoia. He would prefer them to work in pairs, as they normally did, and that might be more possible tomorrow. However, today's agenda, and the need for immediate action, meant that they'd had to take on jobs individually, and Hotch couldn't begin to put into words the worry he'd felt when Emily had gone on her own to Juliet Fletcher's. He'd managed to focus – it had been at the same time as he'd had a meeting with Strauss – but it had been tough. Thankfully, she'd sent a few brief text messages, all case related and he'd been able to control the rate at which his heart had palpitated.

He was also aware that, with the exception of Rossi, most of the team were in denial about what was happening to them. Threats weren't unusual, but it was rare they had to deal with them like this. At the moment, for Morgan, Reid, Emily and Garcia, the threat to them was something that would be dealt with easily. There was a belief – there had to be a belief – that they were somewhat infallible, else they wouldn't be able to do their job. JJ had responded differently, because of Henry, and Hotch had been there before, as had Rossi. Before the end of the week, or even the end of the night, realisation would have hit home hard.

Hotch went back to his office and picked up the phone, dialling Rossi's new number. It rang five times before it was answered.

"Hotch?"

"Dave, we need you back as soon as you can get here," Hotch said, looking at the huddle that was now taking place in the bullpen. JJ had now joined them, looking pale.

"I've just finished, actually. It's been eye opening. Get the scotch open – the bottle you keep in your bottom drawer that you think I don't know about," Rossi said. He sounded upbeat, almost thriving.

"How are you getting back?" Hotch said, his intuition on overdrive.

"I was going to drive," Rossi said, his voice almost drowned out by the background noise of cars and the wind that seemed to be blowing itself into a gale. "But the tone of your voice seems to suggest I'd be better getting a cab."

"Where's your car?" Hotch said. If they were being watched, then there was every chance that someone could have followed Rossi. It was now dark outside; it wouldn't have been difficult for someone to have tampered with Rossi's car. This was something that should have been thought about before Rossi had gone to Pete Germaine's office.

"Parked outside. Have Boyd send one of his minions over when I get back. If it's safe, they can drive it into the lockup," Rossi said. "I've got a cab, Hotch. I'll be back in five." He hung up, leaving Hotch with an unsettled feeling in his stomach still.

He turned off his computer and picked up his briefcase. It would be another couple of hours at least before they even contemplated going home, or in his case, back to Emily's, but he had no intention of returning to his desk.

"Hey," he heard a voice as his door opened. "You okay?" Emily slipped in, her fingers resting on the tops of her jacket pockets. She looked the most exhausted he'd ever seen her, bar Colorado.

Hotch nodded, studying her some more. "I'm fine," he said. "Rossi's on his way. He's taken a cab."

She stared at the floor. "This is a big threat, isn't it? To us."

He wondered how she meant the latter part of her sentence for a moment. Did the 'us' refer to them as a team, or to her and him as a couple.

"I mean to the team, Aaron," she said. "And we need to let everyone know what Strauss said earlier."

"We do," he said, stepping towards her and the door. "And yes, this is a real threat. We need to set up procedures for how we're going to deal with this beyond tomorrow. There's a certain novelty right now, but it will wear off quickly."

"What makes this different?" she said.

He put the briefcase down on the floor. "Close the door," he said, taking a few steps back to the chairs and sitting down. She moved further into the room. "Mansfield missed some words in the letter. If he'd noticed them, we would have been called back from Utah immediately. And we think now there has been other correspondence that hasn't been picked up on."

"This is what you've been doing all day?" she said, sitting down facing him.

He nodded. "I asked to look at all threats that had been made in the past six months that contained the words 'watch', 'seen', 'betrayed' and 'lost'. Four hits came up; one had been sent to Strauss, two to Agent Mansfield himself, and one to an agent named James Faey who was shot four months ago whilst on secondment to the Chicago field office."

"I remember that. It was put down to an armed robbery – he was outside a seven-eleven at the time two masked men walked in," Emily said, Hotch knowing she could have given the details of the case as well as Reid could have. "You don't think it was something else, do you?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Three other people were killed in the incident, the bullets all matching the guns used by the men who were caught. They haven't been tried for Faey's murder, so I'm looking at it from a different angle."

"Does that mean you'll have to go to Chicago?" she said, and this time he could see the worry in her eyes.

"No. I think I'm pretty much tied to the office and your apartment, and anything I need from there can be faxed or emailed." He paused for a moment. "This is someone who seems to know us well. They're well planned and organised, and I don't think they're afraid to cross that line that most people who make threats are." He stood up again. "We should discuss this together. There's something else that's making me nervous, but I'll save it until Dave's back."

As if on cue, he heard Rossi calling out to Morgan, and Hotch and Emily made their way to the conference room where they found JJ and Reid, a carafe of coffee already made.

Hotch sat where he normally did, Emily taking the seat to his right. JJ gave them a weak smile, passing over a mug of steaming coffee. "I figured we're in for a long night," she said.

"Not if I can help it," he said. "We need to go through preliminary profiles for both cases, and share some relevant information, but sleep is going to be key over the next few days if we're going to get anywhere quickly." He hoped he was right with the few days part.

She nodded, passing another mug to Rossi, and then sitting down between Morgan and Reid.

"We're going to start with Boyd and Sylvester have discussed so far and where we are with the threat case," Hotch said, everyone settling quickly. He explained to them what he had just told Emily, giving slightly more detail about the circumstances around Faey's death.

"But how would Agent Faey be connected to us?" Reid said. "If it's an attack on our team, then he doesn't fit."

"And there, boy genius, you are mistaken," Garcia said, tapping a fluorescent pink pen against a notepad. "James Faey spent two months in the BAU about eleven years ago. It didn't work out as he couldn't deal with cases involving children so he moved into the drug squad, hence taking a secondment to Chicago." She caught Hotch's eye, and he gave her a discreet nod. Garcia had been swamped all day researching many different people. She'd had a tough few hours, especially when he'd told her to say nothing about what she was looking into for him. He did not want to alert the others if it wasn't going to be necessary.

"There have been several people on this team in the past few years," Morgan said. "Gideon and Elle, for example. Shouldn't we be keeping tabs on them?"

"They've both been contacted and told to keep a look out. However, both are out of the country. Elle's currently in Europe, and Gideon's non-contactable," Hotch said. "So far, there's nothing that suggests this is more than one person. It's someone who has a grudge against the team itself, or a member of the team, and is intent on taking revenge."

"We should rule out people who are seeking revenge on behalf of someone we have helped to incarcerate," Morgan said. "It's rare that someone would go that far."

Reid nodded. "It's more personal than that. They know too much about us."

Hotch raised his eyebrows. "They seem to know a lot more than we thought they did. We've had further correspondence from them this afternoon. A letter was passed to Marcia Davies who works in the cafeteria. She put it through security, and it ended up with Agent Boyd, then me. She doesn't remember who gave her the letter – it was put into her purse while she queued in a shop."

"What was in the letter?" Rossi said, his voice calm but determined.

"I'll read it to you," Hotch said. He glanced round at them. "'Dear Behavioural Analysis Unit. I see you're back from Utah and I hope your flight was a comfortable one; it may be the last one you take for some time, as I imagine you'll be confined to Virginia until you find out who I am. If you find out who I am. I hope Agent Morgan isn't too concerned about how he'll be reprimanded; they won't kick a black man out of the BAU. Ethnic minorities are too precious. And Dr Reid – stab wounds can be nasty. Make sure you get the dressings changed.'"

"'I'm sorry about the damage to Agent Rossi's house, but I know he can afford to get it repaired without getting his hands dirty. Working where you do pays quite well, I think, although some of you have expensive tastes. Derek should really shop around more instead of importing furniture from England – think of the carbon footprint he's creating too.'"

"'Anyway, this was just meant to be a short note to welcome you back. No doubt I'll be in touch soon – one way or another. Best keep your eyes open.' And that's where he leaves it. It's typed in an identical manner to the last one and the addressee – The BAU – is on a label on the envelope. There's nothing to identify it any more than that," he said, sitting back.

"He's issuing a challenge," Morgan said. "You can't catch me. He's also showing off about what he knows."

"Emails will have been intercepted and phone calls," Rossi said. "We've got a hacker."

"If he's a hacker, then he's one of the best," Garcia said, still tapping her pen noiselessly. "The other alternative is that he works here. You'd still have to get hold of passwords as each department's documents are encrypted differently, but if you're good, that's not difficult."

"Will he be traceable?" Rossi said, making Garcia visibly uncomfortable with his stare.

"It's unlikely. I can set up traps and monitor them, but if he's half good enough to get into our system, then he'll be bouncing off IP addresses all over the place, and sending false ID's," she said, putting the pen down.

Hotch nodded. "We need to do that in such a way it's not obvious. I've been working on a preliminary profile, and I'd like you to take a look to see if it needs amending before I send it over to Agent Boyd." He handed round copies. "We're looking for a white male between thirty and fifty with exceptional knowledge of computers. He's local, and has probably lived in this area for some time. He has no criminal record and will be perceived as a quiet, upstanding member of the community. He's likely to have been married and had a family, although a family disturbance may have triggered his obsession with this unit. It's unclear whether his focus is the team as a whole and what we do, or an individual within the team." He finished his summary, allowing a pause for any comments. None came. "Tomorrow I'm going to profile each of you individually with Agent Boyd. We need to see if anyone stands out as being a likely target. I will have access to what you have told Agents Boyd and Sylvester today – does anyone wish to say anything before we move on to the Alfie Fletcher case?"

Morgan shook his head. "You already should be aware of everything we've said in the interviews," he said. "It's all on file."

Hotch nodded. "I may need more information about relationships you've been involved in, and close friendships. It's possible that this is a stalker whose target has expanded to include the whole team."

"But we think it's a male, don't we?" said Reid. "That kind of narrows it down."

"Not necessarily," Rossi said. "Previous partners could have spoken to new boyfriends or husbands. You could be looking at something from a decade or more ago that's begun to manifest itself."

Morgan gave a nod. "I'm fine with that," he said. "I can't think of any old girlfriends with whom there's been an issue, and I've always been discreet with what I told them about my job. A lot of them didn't even know exactly what I did."

"Beyond Secret Agent, you mean," Reid said, casting a disapproving look.

"Well, kid, let's see how many of your past girlfriends Hotch needs to check up on. I could count them on a hand that only had two fingers..."

"That'll do Derek," JJ said, placing a hand on Morgan's forearm. "I'd like to get home before Henry's bedtime." It was enough to silence him.

Hotch added a glare to make sure Morgan stayed quiet on the matter. He was glad he wasn't being defensive about having to share aspects of his life outside of work, given what had happened in Utah. "If it is someone who works here, or someone who is watching us closely, they are going to know that our routines have changed – it's possibly what they're looking to happen, so the bomb at Rossi's may be a success in their eyes. We need to be vigilant. Don't leave your vehicles in public areas where they will be unattended, do your grocery shopping online for the next few days and don't go anywhere alone. Double check you homes when you enter. When we've finishing here we will be taken home by members of Boyd's team. You can stop off where you like on the way. What's happened is seriously going to impede on our lives until we catch whoever's responsible. You'll be picked up in the morning at eight." He paused again to give them time for questions or comments.

"I'd say it's unlikely for another attack to occur for at least twenty four hours. We'll get regular updates from him, and hopefully in his eagerness to communicate with us, he'll become sloppy and give something away. Are checks being done on new agents or workers here?" Rossi said, reaching over and picking up the carafe.

Hotch nodded. "Garcia's going to be doing that tomorrow. Which means she's going to be busy all day," he gave her a quick glance. She was sensitive, and did her best to please. The threat of further attacks on the people she regarded as her family was upsetting her greatly, and she had the propensity to become flustered. "We need some extra man power to assist with the Alfie Fletcher case. Four other agents have been seconded to us to do some of the usual police work. One of them is currently with Ms. Fletcher; the other three start tomorrow and I'm going to have them report to Dave. We have to be careful whom we involve in this. We need someone to assist with the technical side of the Fletcher case, so we have Kevin Lynch with us for its duration. I think we can assume that he isn't the one responsible for these threats." He looked at Garcia's face which had broken out into its first smile of the day. She hadn't known about Lynch's involvement, and although he knew she liked Kevin to be out of the way when she worked, she would take this as recognition of his skills.

"To keep this manageable I'm going to split the team," he glanced around again. They were used to working as a team of seven; now he was about to cut their resources in half and he wasn't sure what the reaction would be like. "Reid, JJ and myself will work on the case against us, with Garcia in support. Rossi will lead the Fletcher case. We'll meet at the end of each day, or if any issues arise, to pool resources then." There were nods, agreement, and he felt relieved. Reid was still injured, and probably shouldn't be working. Keeping him in the Academy building would be beneficial for his recovery, and with the UnSub corresponding regularly his analytical skills would be useful. JJ wasn't needed in her usual role; she was sensitive to other people and knew the team well. Apart from Rossi, the rest would open up to her easily should they need any personal information, and Rossi he could handle himself. "We need to talk through the Alfie Fletcher case. Dave?" He looked to Dave to start.

"Geoff Thompson is a piece of work. He is under the impression that Alfie has been taken by someone from a protest group connected with Juliet Fletcher's work..." Rossi began.

"Juliet Fletcher thoughtthe same," Emily said. "Jennifer Keeley has been making threats for about nine months. However, it appears that she has been in Dallas for the past ten days."

Rossi nodded. "I've just spoken to the private detective employed by Ms. Fletcher. He said that a room had been booked under that name where a right-to-life conference was taking place, but it hadn't been used. He only found this out a couple of hours ago. Pete Germaine – the PI – isn't the quickest, which is unfortunate for us."

Reid leant forward, reaching for the sugar bowl and taking a cube. "Is there a chance that this is an inside job? At some point it would be likely for Alfie Fletcher's parentage to come out, which would all but destroy Geoff Thompson's career. Disposing of him means there's less risk."

"If that were the case, don't you think he would have ended the affair with Ms. Fletcher already?" JJ said. "Why carry on with something that would cause so much trouble?"

"She could be blackmailing him," Rossi said. "There is the possibility that she is using her son as leverage to make him continue the relationship."

Hotch loosened his tie. "I think we can almost discount that. If she suspected Thompson was involved, she would have said something to confirm that."

"I agree," Emily said. "She comes across as a strong, independent career woman. She's clearly mortified about her son's disappearance – she broke down quite badly while I was there – but still holds Thompson in high esteem. Her panic is stemming from Keeley being in Dallas."

"Then we need to find Jennifer Keeley as soon as possible, and get a warrant to search her house. Tonight," Hotch said, glancing at JJ. "JJ, can you get onto that now, please. Reid, you look confused."

Reid nodded. "Morgan and I have been looking at the Evangeline Dwyer case, and two that preceded it. Amber Livesy went missing just over ten years ago. Her body's never been found. Matthew Horsfield went missing four years later. Eight months after his disappearance his skeletonised remains were discovered in a field – parallels with the Dwyer case. All the children were the same age, and all were from affluent backgrounds. There is a pattern there."

Hotch suppressed a groan. This could have been clear cut. "If nothing comes of Jenifer Keeley, then we need to dig out these old cases tomorrow. Look for who was suspected at the time of each disappearance, and cross reference them."

He sat up as JJ came into the room. "We have the warrant for Keeley's address," she said. "There are cars waiting to take us there now. Strauss is contacting the local PD to make them aware that we are carrying out an operation in their area and may need back up. No other details are being given."

"Great," Rossi said, standing up. "That'll get them on our side."

Hotch cast a look to the heavens, to whichever God was on duty, and asked for the type of rain they desperately needed.

* * *

_Now press that little review button. Go on, you know you want to..._

_Sarah x_


	9. Chapter Eight

_Thank you for the reviews for the last chapter. Something seems to have gone wrong with the site (not a rare thing!) and some people have reviewed and it hasn't showed up (you can check the reviews for this story to see if it has). I think the same thing happened for the previous chapter too. Please let me know (or re-review!!!!) as I will do another extra scene shortly as an apology for my extremely brief review replies._

_Thank you to my Ozzie beta, __**Chiroho**__, and after calling him an Ozzie instead of Aussie, he'll probably refuse to continue... (please don't refuse to continue – I'm only joking, I'll make sure I spell it properly in future...)_

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"We have no right to express an opinion until we know all of the answers.**"**

**- Kurt Cobain**

**Chapter Eight**

November 4th

They followed protocol. Morgan and Rossi had taken the back, while Hotch and JJ were concealing themselves at the front, leaving Reid and Emily to knock on the door and see if Mrs. Jennifer Keeley was in and willing to answer.

It had started to rain, drops of water pelting from the sky, as if it was trying to cleanse the ground through force and water alone. Emily could feel a trickle of water running down the side of her face as she banged on the door, hoping it could be heard above nature's noise. "Jennifer Keeley?" she shouted for the third time. "This is the FBI. We need you to open up."

There was no response, not that she was surprised. The house was dark and three newspapers, now soggy and disintegrating, sat on the front lawn. Emily doubted that anyone had been there in days.

She turned around, seeing Hotch emerging from the car into the rain. He lifted his wrist and spoke into the radio there. They were going in.

Her heart beat a little faster, as it always did in these situations. A car she knew belonged to the local PD pulled up alongside their Suburbans, available for back up. It was doubtful they would need it until later, when the premises needed to be sealed and secured.

The door wasn't a particularly strong one, and casting a brief look at Hotch she decided to take it down herself. It was one way to alleviate a build up of stress. She kind of got why Morgan enjoyed knocking down the walls in the places he bought to renovate.

Three kicks later and they were inside, finding the place in total darkness. The post box looked almost full, full enough to suggest that the owner had been absent for at least a week. They cleared the living room first, its tidiness covered with a layer of dust that was visible under the torchlight. A word from Rossi told them that the back of the house was empty, and Emily, Hotch and JJ made their way up the stairs, passing pictures that looked like originals hung on the walls.

The carpet was thick enough to make their footfalls soundless. The house eerie in the night time silence, as if it had taken on a life of its own and was quietly watching them.

JJ stayed outside the first bedroom while Emily and Hotch entered, checking wardrobes and even under the bed. She knew that they both thought the house was empty. Intuition told them when somebody was in a building, and right now, hers was saying that no one was home.

"It's clear," Hotch said quietly. "Let's try the next room."

He nodded at JJ as they walked past, opening the second of four doors. This time it was a study, furnished in dark oak, which was well polished giving the strong smell of furniture wax. There were no closets to check, and in less than a minute they were back on the landing, hearing Morgan's voice carrying from downstairs.

"Bathroom and the master bedroom," Hotch said, pushing open the third door. A plain white bathroom suite was in front of them. He opened a tall closet door and found a pile of towels waiting to pounce on them.

"Clear," Emily said, sarcasm lacing the word. "This is looking worrying."

The door to the master bedroom was already slightly open, Emily figuring the air pressure had disturbed it already. She followed Hotch it, covering him while he opened up the wardrobes, checked under the bed, and finally slid open the door to the en suite bathroom. "It's clear upstairs," he said into his wrist.

"I'm going to have a look in the study," Emily said. "There's got to be something here somewhere that tells us where she's gone." She left Hotch on the landing, flicking on the light in the small third bedroom that Mrs Keeley had decided to use as the place to deal with her correspondence. An old looking laptop sat on the desk, a wire connecting it to a printer that could be picked up for fifty dollars from any Wall-Mart.

She began to look through the drawers, finding an array of newspaper clippings. Some were about Juliet Fletcher, others on stem-cell research that had been done with the use of aborted foetuses, most were articles that had an anti-abortion slant. Everything was well organised and tidy. Emily opened the laptop and switched it on, preparing to wait a long time for it to boot up. It didn't, coming straight out of hibernation.

An internet page was on the screen showing reservations for the room in Dallas. On another tab was a website listing proposed peaceful demonstrations for the right to life campaign, including the Dallas one and a listing for a three day conference with a variety of speakers. But Mrs. Fletcher hadn't checked into that hotel room, although that didn't mean she wasn't at the conference.

"Have you found anything?" Reid said, making Emily jump. "Hotch wants to leave. Thinks we should come back in the morning with a couple of the seconded agents. Man, all I want to do right now is sleep."

She nodded in sympathy. "I could do that too, Spence. Does this place have a basement?"

Reid shook his head, his rather erratic hair bouncing around untidily. "No basement. There's a shed which is used for storage instead. Although this place is in an expensive area to buy property, it's actually not worth much. It was pretty much thrown up by the builders about seven years ago so they could make a quick buck. It's small too." He looked around the room judgementally.

Emily put the laptop back into hibernation mode and began to unplug it. "This can go straight to Kevin," she said. "There may be things on here that can point to where exactly Mrs. Keeley is."

"You know, the hotel room could have been booked as a rouse," Reid said. "She could be staying with someone else down there. What do we know about her?"

"That she's a widower, a strict Christian, and has very pro-life beliefs. She has no children, and is fifty-four. She would have struggled to have taken the child out of his room. If it is Keeley who's responsible for this, she must have had an accomplice," Emily said, following Reid out of the room and down the stairs. She could see the paintings clearly now; they were originals by a local artist, who was becoming more popular. Collectively, they would be worth more than her annual salary.

She explained to the rest of the team what she'd seen on the laptop. The warrant covered them taking any objects that were pertinent to the investigation back to Quantico, where it would be logged officially. By the looks of things, it was the only object they would be taking with them.

"There must be another reason for Jennifer Keeley to be away," Rossi said. "I know people can keep things hidden incredibly well, but there's absolutely nothing here that ties her to Alfie Fletcher."

"If she sent those letters, there must be something somewhere," Hotch said. "But now is not the time to look. Alfie isn't being held here. The locals can secure the premises, and one of us will be back first thing. I think we should head back to Quantico and then call it a night. We need sleep."

Emily suddenly saw how tired they all looked. Reid's eyes were darker than usual; Morgan looked his age; JJ's skin was sallow and drawn. It was only seven o'clock, and they'd all been known to work much later when in the midst of a case, or even when there was paper work to catch up on, but it felt much later, as if this day had lasted a week. "Let's hope there are no night time adventures for any of us tonight," she said, heading for the door.

"Just a whisky and some painkillers for me," Rossi said, immediately behind her.

"Oh, I don't know," she heard Morgan. "I have a lady on call who I'm sure could provide young Spencer here with a bit of fun, maybe help him with some remedial exercises to improve his recovery rate..."

She walked quickly. Home could not be close enough.

* * *

"Beer?"

Rossi watched Reid tentatively take the bottle Morgan was holding out to him. "Thanks, Derek."

"Rossi? I have a bottle of scotch, but I'm not a scotch drinker so I don't know how good it is."

A knee clicked slightly as he stood up from the couch. "I'll take a look," he said, following Morgan back into the kitchen. A cabinet was open, its contents on display. A bottle of single malt, eighteen year old Glenfiddich stood out immediately, and Rossi gave a shallow nod. "That's not a bad bottle you have there. Was it a gift?"

Morgan nodded. "From a couple of years ago. I did some odd jobs for a lady who lives a few doors down and she bought me that as a thank you. She was in her seventies, Rossi, so no jokes, please."

Rossi nodded, taking the bottle out of the cabinet. "She had good taste," he said, unscrewing the cap. Morgan passed him a small glass that would serve the purpose. He poured a couple of fingers into it, enough for the night. "Hopefully, we'll not impose on you for too long."

Morgan rested his head against the cabinets. "I can't see anything being solved overnight. I mean, we have no clue who this person could be. Even if we can narrow it down to someone who works at the Bureau, there are a couple of thousand people in Quantico alone, and profiling can only take us so far."

"That's true. And in all reality, Derek, we're waiting for another attack or piece of correspondence to give us more information. In the meantime, Hotch is going to go over every aspect of the past few years to see if he can put a finger on someone who may have reason to want to attack the team," Rossi said, swirling the amber liquid round in the glass. "Anyway, let's try and switch off for the night and come back in the morning with a fresh mind. Besides, we need to make sure the kid is handling his beer alright."

"I heard that."

Rossi chuckled at Reid's indignation. It wasn't fair, he knew. Reid wasn't a kid, not in the true sense of the word, but as the youngest member of the team, and the most _different,_ he came in line for a lot of flack. "Maybe we should add some Sprite to it."

"Hey!"

Rossi followed Morgan back into the lounge, where Reid was seated on one of the sofas, reading a book in French on something obscure.

"Any preferences for take-out?" Morgan said. "I know Hotch had ideas about us getting something to eat at work, but that fell through in style."

Reid rested the book on his lap. "I'm glad we didn't hang around. I have a feeling we'll be doing enough of that during the next few days. And as for preferences, Derek, there's a really good Turkish restaurant not far from here that does take-out. I tutor their son occasionally, so if I call and order, they'll deliver it for us as well."

Rossi caught Morgan's eye and nodded. "Sounds good. Shall we let boy wonder order?"

"When will my age cease to be an issue?" Reid said, almost muttering.

Rossi laughed, feeling the scotch warm his throat as it trickled down. He wanted to give Jolene a call, to see how she and her sister were doing. Detective Winters was well on the way to recovery now, although still in hospital. He had been hoping to get over to Calverville Point in the time they were meant to be taking off, but obviously it hadn't happened. As soon as both these cases were wrapped up, he'd be taking at least two weeks leave.

"Okay, I'll order. They do a good mixed grill, stuffed vegetables and a chicken casserole. They'll probably send some hummus and lentil balls too," Reid said, trying to get his cell out of his pocket without moving off the sofa.

"What the hell are lentil balls, Reid?" Morgan asked, looking worried, his brow creased with a frown.

Reid looked up, his delight in explaining anything to anyone quite obvious. "They're exactly what they say, and they're really quite tasty. Pulses are good for your..."

"Hey, don't tell me about what's good to eat, else that third bedroom will suddenly become unavailable and you'll be spending the night where you are now," Morgan said, the warning note in his tone sharp.

"Derek, Spencer," Rossi said, sitting down. "Let's just order the food and then we can assess it. Tomorrow we'll try something different."

Then it seemed to hit them; that tomorrow they would all still be staying under the same roof, with little privacy or space. "You know," Rossi said, understanding the feelings the other two were experiencing. "It may be that if we haven't come any closer to finding out who's behind this in two or three days, we'd be better moving into a hotel. The other option's the dorms at Quantico, but I'm not sure that would be safer."

Morgan sat down on the large leather lazy-boy chair. "Let's see how we go. However, as much as I love you both, especially you Reid with your fragrant feet, being cooped up together for more than a couple of nights in this apartment is not my idea of fun."

Reid shot Morgan a glare that suggested a new way of dying was being invented before leaving the room to call the restaurant. They heard him speaking what must have been Turkish at first, followed by a laugh, and then a return to English. Morgan looked bemused, switching on the overly large television on as a distraction.

"You have any more theories about Alfie Fletcher, Rossi?" Morgan asked as he channel hopped. "We still have no idea whether this Jennifer Keeley is involved or not, which means we have virtually nothing concrete to go on. I can't believe the parents have made such a mess of this."

Rossi took another sip, trying to make the one glass last all night. "I'm inclined to think that Alfie's disappearance is linked with that of the other three children," he said, with some caution. "I don't see a middle aged woman going to the extremes of taking a child, unless we find something in her background that suggests a breakdown of sorts. Lynch is still working on it, I believe. He and Penelope took several thousand dollars worth of equipment back to JJ's. I hope Will's got good home insurance."

"Right, guys," Reid said, entering the room. "Food will be on its way shortly. What is that you're watching, Derek?" His attention was drawn to the soap opera currently on the TV. Rossi believed it to be The Young and the Restless, a rerun from some years back.

He downed the rest of the scotch and stood up. There was no way one glass was going to get him through an evening of this.

* * *

"We are going to do something else this evening other than work, aren't we?"

Garcia looked over the tops of her spectacle rims at Kevin Lynch, and shot him a look that was proven at silencing him. "We need to get ahead on the research," she said. "You'll thank me for it tomorrow."

He inhaled deeply. "I'm sure I will, although I think JJ would like us to have dinner with them at some point, and you know, maybe pretend that things are almost normal."

This time she turned her head away from her laptop and gave him the full power of her wrath via her eyes. "Mr. Lynch, unless you want to be thought of as incompetent by none other than the legend that is David Rossi, I suggest you carry on your search for information on Jennifer Keeley."

He lowered his laptop screen slightly and she received a return of glare. "In case you don't remember, light of my life, David Rossi does not scare me. However, I have found out quite a bit already on Mrs. Keeley, that I'm sure will be of interest to your team. Shall I send it to Rossi?"

"No, Reid," she said, typing frantically. She was trying to check Emily's personal email account, but was being blocked by something. "He'll check his handheld more frequently."

"What's the matter, Pen?" Kevin had stood up, and was walking round the table. "Oh."

"Indeed," she said, the same message coming up again. "'The username or password you entered is incorrect,'" she read it out loud, trying to process what it meant. "Whoever it is has accessed our personal email as well, and that would take more than your average bear."

"Have you tried sending an email to the account, to see if it's still there?" Kevin

"Yes, and it bounced." Garcia

"You set those accounts up, didn't you?" Kevin said. "Emily wanted an email address she could give to her mom and dad that wasn't an FBI one, so you..."

"You are indeed correct, Kevin," she said, regretting snapping almost immediately. She shook her head, looking away from the computer. "I'm sorry. I'm just a little spooked by what this guy has managed to do. That email account was secure, and what's more, I'm pretty sure it's not been made public. It's never given as a means to contact Emily – it's one she uses for online shopping, PayPal, that sort of thing." She sank back into the chair. "I need to check everyone's accounts. There's a good chance whoever this is has hacked into all of them, which means he'll know a great deal more about us than any of us suspected."

"Is there any chance Emily closed the account herself?" Kevin said. "Or that this is a server issue?"

Garcia shook her head. "She would have asked me to close it, and no, there's no sign of it being another issue." She looked up at him, and felt relieved when he put a hand on her shoulder, two fingers playing with a lock of pink hair that had dropped out of her bun. "I'm scared," she said, keeping her voice low so JJ wouldn't hear her. "My team – they're already burnt out. Look at how Jayje is, my kitten. She's at the point of breaking down. And Hotch – he's not just carrying the weight of the world there, he's got the whole solar system. And now we've got someone who's trying to hurt them, and who knows way too much about them." She let out a pained sigh. "When will this stop?"

"We don't know. We just need to do whatever we can to make it as soon as possible," Kevin said, his tone matter of fact and soothing. "You know that everyone is safe right now. Let Emily know what's happened. She may want to contact her mother and anyone else she's been emailing through that address and warn them it's been hijacked. Then you need to come and eat, and spend some time with your godson, and try help make JJ smile."

She gave him a weak nod. "I shall do that, my knight in shining armour."

He shook his head. "No, my fluorescent princess, your knight in a Bermuda shirt. Metal irritates my skin."

* * *

Emily sank back into her sofa, wondering whether or not to feel weird about Hotch making coffee in her kitchen. She figured she was too tired to feel much besides relief that someone else was making her a drink. Since she'd moved to Virginia, she hadn't had a night after work when she hadn't come home, made her own dinner, sat down by herself and watched something mindless on TV. There had been the nights when they had gone out after work, or she had met up with the few friends she had the area, even the rare date, but there hadn't been this.

"That smells good," she said, turning around and seeing Hotch bringing in the mugs on a tray.

"It's the coffee you bought, Emily," he said, a faded t-shirt tight enough around the top of his arms to draw her attention.

"True," she said. "But it always smells and tastes nicer when someone else makes it."

He gave a half-smile, putting the tray down on the low coffee table and then sitting next to her, resting his head back and looking up at the ceiling. "I'll let you know after you've made the next pot," he said, causing her to smile.

"My coffee is nothing to write home about," she said. "I used to make it badly on purpose so my mother would stop asking me to do it. Then it just became how I made it."

"I wondered how you always got out of making coffee on slow days," he said. "Morgan and Reid are always the ones in the kitchen."

She laughed, her eyes dancing. Some things, Hotch just wasn't privy to. "My poor coffee making skills were discovered fairly quickly, but have you never notcied that the kitchen doorway looks out over Autumn Sheen's desk?"

Hotch looked at her with interest. "So that's why Derek's coffee dramatically improved. He was admiring the view."

Emily nodded, smiling. It was moments like these where she felt strangely comfortable. She still couldn't quite believe that this was happening, that they had gone from colleagues to something more in a matter of weeks, and it didn't feel wrong. "Then he found out that she was seeing Lisa Butler from personnel, so he backed off, encouraging Reid to make a move instead."

Hotch shook his head, the half-smile now replaced with a full one. "Poor Reid."

"Sometimes it's poor Reid. A lot of the time he just doesn't think," Emily said. "And he gets his own back." She reached over and picked up one of the mugs from the tray. "How you feeling after today?"

She wasn't sure whether they should continue with discussing the cases, or try and give themselves a break. Part of her wanted to try to forget for a few hours, to switch off and simply relax and recharge, but the other, driven aspect of her character wanted to pursue the cases further.

"I don't know. I guess I've put what I feel on hold," he said, picking up the other mug. "I'm apprehensive about what tomorrow will bring, and I'm afraid we'll waste more time on the Alfie Fletcher case by chasing a red herring. But other than that, I think I just want to sleep."

Emily sipped at her coffee, eventually putting it back on the table. "Turn your back to me," she said. He did as he was told, which surprised her. She placed her hands on the back of his neck and sought out a pressure point, using fingertips to try to sooth taut muscles. She was no masseuse, being a little on the heavy handed side and never graceful in movement anyway, but the intention was there.

Hotch manoeuvred himself so that she was now straddling him, with his back to her. His right hand was moving up her leg, pushing up the lounge pants she had pulled out of a cupboard. She moved her hands up into his hair, then to his temples. "I'm not the best at this," she said, an awkward laugh falling out with the words.

"Really?" he said, sounding half asleep. "It doesn't feel that way right now, although I think we should go to bed as I really don't want to sleep on your couch."

She moved her hands away, sitting up straight. "I guess bed would be a good idea," she said. "Hopefully we won't be woken tonight. I think I've had all the disturbing news I can take for one day." She referred to Garcia's phone call an hour ago, while they had been eating dinner. She'd then spent a good half hour letting certain people know that her personal email account had been hijacked. The only person she hadn't heard back from was Sophie, and she hoped that was because she was too busy with her new boyfriend.

"And I really hope you haven't just tempted fate by saying that," Hotch said, putting the mugs back on the tray. "You go get ready for bed – I'll get you a drink that'll help you sleep."

She watched him leave the room, heading back into the kitchen, and found herself coping with an odd, unfamiliar feeling. Standing with the support of the couch, she made her way to the bathroom and brushed her teeth, then ridded herself of the remains of any make-up.

Hotch entered the bedroom just after her, putting down a glass of something on her bedside table, then sitting down on the bed with his. "Warm milk with honey and cinnamon," he said quietly, watching her take off the pants and baggy sweater she'd been wearing.

She felt slightly self-conscious under his gaze, and paused after pulling on a nightdress over her bra.

He gained a little colour in his cheeks. "I'm sorry," he said. "I was staring." Turning away, he pulled off his t-shirt and sweat pants, and pulled back the comforter. "The day was easier knowing I'd be with you tonight." His words were barely audible, and he didn't look at her as he said them.

Emily undid her bra from underneath her nightdress and got into the bed next to him. She switched off the overhead light, and picked up the hot drink he'd made. It was sweet, but soothing, like something her mother might have prepared after an emotional day.

Hotch's glass was already nearly empty, his eyes half closed. "I'm glad you're here," she said as he slid down the bed, switching off his light with an outstretched arm. He half smiled; sleep beginning to touch his face with her gentle fingers.

Emily finished the drink and turned the room into darkness, curling into him and sharing his warmth. His soft breathing sounded like a lullaby as she followed him into sleep's arms.

* * *

_Please review, folks!_

_Sarah x_


	10. Chapter Nine

_Thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter. There will be an extra scene instead of a reply after the next chapter. Thank you to __**Kim **__and __**Sussi**__ too!_

_The site is still acting weirdly. I've had no hits logged since Wednesday (I've been getting some reviews so I know that people are reading) and some reviews haven't been getting through to me either via email or going up on the site. If you review, just check it gets posted, and if you don't have a reply from me for the previous chapter and you reviewed, then it's been lost in the ether somewhere. It's quite frustrating as reviews are 50% lower for the past two chapters than what they usually are, so it's either the site or people aren't enjoying the story._

_Thank you to __**Chiroho**__ for the beta. And as an extra note, the lyrics in this chapter are __**The Killers.**_

_**Warning for strong language,**_

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"A safe but sometimes chilly way of recalling the past is to force open a crammed drawer. If you are searching for anything in particular you don't find it, but something falls out at the back that is often more interesting."

**- James M. Barry**

**Chapter Nine**

November 5th

They had decided to have breakfast together. Even Aaron Hotchner had joined them. This surprised him somewhat; they were breaking their routine. Some mornings, when a big case wasn't in progress, Prentiss and Morgan might go down to the cafeteria and get a coffee together, or she would come on her own and struggle to carry up six or seven cups of beverages. He'd helped her carry them up to their floor a couple of times. She'd always been pleasant, if sometimes a little awkward, but then that was just her.

He pushed the rashers of bacon around his plate, watching Jennifer Jareau pull her long blonde hair out of the way. She'd settled for a bowl of natural yoghurt, granola, and some summer fruit: it wasn't a substantial breakfast, not when her energy was flagging anyway. He'd seen her yesterday, looking pale and tired. But she wouldn't take any sick time; she'd be at work loyally, day after day, until they realised.

Guilt wasn't something he felt. He'd trashed that emotion years ago, when he'd begun to watch her more closely. At first, he'd just monitored her emails – it wasn't difficult. He'd just slipped into her office late one night and installed a piece of software that logged every key she hit, and voila, he'd had her passwords.

Being caught wasn't an issue; it wouldn't happen. He was too highly regarded now, respected in a way that people wouldn't question what he did, and besides, no one would suspect anything anyway. He was too careful.

He placed his knife and fork together in the middle of his plate, his appetite not what it usually was. There were a few smiles coming from the team, and even the hint of a laugh. He didn't know what case they were working on at the moment – he was surprised that they were working on any, given the explosion at Rossi's home – but they obviously had time to enjoy a joke.

It irritated him. He wanted them to feel pain, every one of them. He wanted to inconvenience them, to make them worry, to feel what it was like to be a victim, and then he wanted to be the one to figure it out, to be the hero. Like he should have been to start with.

They stood up as a group, Spencer Reid taking JJ's bowl, Hotchner taking Emily Prentiss'. He wondered where the analyst was; possibly trying to work out how he had wiped Prentiss' personal email accounts. She wouldn't know what else he had been doing with that. Not yet. But soon.

* * *

Kevin Lynch opened up Mrs. Jennifer Keeley's ancient laptop and brought it out of hibernation. It wasn't password protected in any way, shape or form, which told him that this person didn't consider herself as having anything to hide.

He began by looking at her browsing history, and given what he knew about Mrs. Keeley, he wasn't surprised by anything there: religious websites, pro-life, , cheap flights, hotels in Dallas, Juliet Fletcher's own website, and the company Fletcher was employed by. There were no internet banking sites, and just one page stored in her favourites that led to a chat room for members of her church that were also concerned with government legislation into abortion and stem cell research using aborted foetuses. It was exactly what he expected.

Her word processing documents weren't a great surprise either. There were a couple of letters to her bank, a letter to the company in charge of trash collection in her area to make a complaint, and several letters to members of Congress expressing concern or showing support. There was nothing addressed to Juliet Fletcher, and even a search of the whole machine threw up nothing apart from her website, and a brief reference in a letter to a congressman named Max Hornby.

Kevin glanced round the small room which he'd been allocated. It wasn't much more than a cleaner's closet that had been emptied and had a desk put in it. He wasn't bothered though. He had a larger office two floors up, but it would be impractical to be up there when his 'team' would need him closer.

The fact that there was no sign of the letters that Mrs. Keeley had supposedly sent to Juliet Fletcher troubled him. Keeley didn't work; since her husband's death three years ago she'd managed quite competently on a widow's pension and the savings that had been very well invested. Her time had been given to what she believed in, and volunteering at a local elementary school. It could be that the letters had been written elsewhere; if she did have an accomplice, then their computer could have been used, but something was tweaking at his brain.

The door to his broom closet, as he had decided to call it, opened and Emily entered, looking puzzled. She had a candy bar in her hand which she promptly put on his desk, frowning at it. "Garcia sent you this," she said drolly. "She says you need to keep up your energy, and I'd rather you didn't elaborate why."

He grinned, picking up the bar. "It's nothing like that," he said, biting open the wrapper. "She told me that working down here will be a shock to the system. I'll need to keep my strength up."

Emily nodded, looking strangely at him. "Have you found anything interesting on Jennifer's laptop?" she said, resting her hands on his desk.

Kevin shook his head. "Nada. Absolutely zilch. She's not proficient with technology, that's for sure." He ran through what he'd discovered. "You know, is there proof that these letters actually exist?"

Emily inhaled deeply. "No. Juliet Fletcher said she'd burnt them. Which surprises me, as she seems more like the type to file everything, and act on things that aren't as they should be."

"Could there be something else in the letters that she didn't want anyone else to read?" Kevin said, trying to put himself in that position. "If she was being threatened, then the threats could contain blackmail, using an event in her past maybe?"

Emily nodded, clearly still in thought. "Try digging further into Juliet's background. I know we've already looked at her in quite a bit of detail, but there may be something well hidden."

"Gotcha, captain," Kevin said, giving Emily a mock salute, and earning himself a raised eyebrow. "I just need to print something for Agent Morgan, and then I'll get on it."

She gave him a quick nod and vacated the room, leaving him alone with his candy bar.

* * *

Hotch picked up the file that had been deposited on his desk with some trepidation. In it contained all the notes made by Agents Boyd and Sylvester the previous day, notes taken while each member of the team was being interviewed. Boyd had already told him that the only things they'd written down were those they deemed relevant to the case, which made Hotch feel slightly better. He didn't want to intrude on the personal lives of his colleagues. A line needed to be drawn between work and home, and he was about to cross it. He only hoped that it would be a minor transgression across that line.

A knock on his door announced Reid's presence, the door opening before Hotch had time to tell him to come in. He'd chosen Reid specifically for this task; his odd perception of people was often useful, but right now Hotch felt that it was essential. Reid, more than any of the others, would be able to separate himself from his relationship with the person in question and look at them independently. And although Reid would never forget what he'd read, it wouldn't affect his relationship with them afterwards.

He looked slightly apprehensive, and Hotch understood completely the emotions he was going through. "I wish this wasn't necessary," Reid said, sitting down on the sofa next to Hotch. "It's almost as if someone has planned it so that we have to go through this."

"You may have a point there, Reid," Hotch said. He passed him Emily's file; that was one he wouldn't be looking through himself. "What you have is background information on Prentiss and the notes that Boyd and Sylvester deemed relevant to this case. I'm going to look through Morgan's, then we'll discuss anything that seems like a probable cause."

Reid nodded and opened the file. Hotch saw a picture of Emily from when she had first joined the team. Her hair was slightly shorter, and she didn't have the bangs she had now. A pang went through him and he didn't suppress it, instead focusing on Morgan.

There was nothing that immediately grabbed his attention. Morgan had been involved in a couple of altercations outside of work a few years ago, but none set alarm bells ringing. He'd discussed a couple of relationships with Boyd that hadn't ended smoothly, but contact with the women had ended more than two years ago. Hotch could immediately dismiss this; the person planning this attacks and taunts was in regular contact with the team.

There were other events that Boyd had highlighted, all of them back in Chicago. The cop in charge of the case in which Morgan had been the primary suspect was underlined in red, but again, it had been some time ago, and there had been no contact since.

Had Morgan irritated someone, or used his position unwisely? He knew agents who were attached to prestigious units often liked to flaunt their status, but Morgan had always been the opposite of that. He took a quiet pride in what he did.

Then there was Karl, the man in Utah who Morgan had crossed. But that was too recent, and Karl hadn't shown that he would have the intelligence for this sort of attack. They were looking for someone who had been studying them for some time, who had a grudge to bear, was more than competent with technology, and had a greater than average intelligence. There was no one in Morgan's profile who fit those criteria.

Reid looked up at the same time as Hotch and shook his head. "Emily's listed several international criminals who have targeted her in the past because of her connection with politics, but none are recent. And if it was someone from Emily's background, then a hit on Rossi would be unlikely. The obvious target would be her, then you in order to hurt her."

Hotch nodded in agreement. He'd already considered a potential threat from Emily's past, before this case had even begun. It had been one of his arguments against having her on the team. "What about past boyfriends?" he said, keeping his tone as nonchalant as possible and not looking at Reid.

"Nothing," he said. "Although your relationship has been highlighted by Agent Boyd. He wonders if it has triggered a potential jealous suitor."

Hotch looked up now, alarmed. "Reid – was there anyone who showed more than just a usual amount of interest in Prentiss before this started to happen?"

Reid looked thoughtful for a moment. "There were a couple of agents who asked her out, and she turned them down. The only person I know of Emily seeing was when she first started at the BAU. It only lasted a couple of dates. And Hotch, someone would have had to have been looking very closely. I mean, you went out for a meal once before we went to Utah, and it's only been the last couple of nights when you've been at her apartment. That's not long enough for someone to plan this."

Hotch nodded, his momentary loss of common sense ending. "No, you're right. We had trouble with the cell phones back in Utah, before anything happened between Emily and me."

"It's a good thing, Hotch," Reid said, looking at him directly.

Hotch looked away, not wanting to discuss this right now. Or ever really. "Thank you Reid. Is there anything else that Boyd and Sylvester noted about Emily which could be useful?"

Reid shook his head. "Prentiss isn't the type of person to attract a stalker, if that's what we're dealing with. She's attractive and pleasant to everyone she meets, but she doesn't act in an elusive manner. She's direct and not out of reach. Stalkers tend to be attracted by people who they can never be with, so they perceive themselves as having been slighted, when in fact they haven't actually been noticed until their behaviour becomes threatening."

"Emily doesn't profile as a person a stalker would target," Hotch said, agreeing. He felt a sharp sense of relief. "So who on the team does?"

"Yourself," Reid said. "Your aloofness and position of power would make you a possible target for a 'Resentful Stalker', and I would put Rossi in the same category. An attachment could have been made because you remind the UnSub of someone that rejected them for a job. So far our UnSub profiles most like this type of stalker.

"JJ is a likely target for a Predatory Stalker or Intimacy Seeker. She's very much in the public eye; she's attractive and personable, but has more of an air of unobtainability than Emily or Garcia. You have also got recent triggers connected to JJ – her relationship with Will, and the birth of Henry. She's also the first barrier to getting into the team."

"What about you?" Hotch said. Reid's evaluative profiles were brief but accurate so far.

"I'm similar to Emily. I can be overly enthusiastic and possibly too empathetic with people, which stops me from being unobtainable. My oddness would also put somebody off; they would be more likely to attach themselves to someone who could be easily substituted for their ideal," he said, making Hotch surprised at Reid's assessment of himself.

"JJ would be the obvious individual target," Hotch said. "Yet if we look in her file, there's virtually nothing in here that would support that. There's rarely any conflict; she's not noticed anything unusual; there's nothing in her past that would warrant any negative attention – she's the cleanest out of all of us."

"Then maybe that's part of the attraction; he sees her as being perfect – a blank canvas with which he can mould his own ideal," Reid said, taking the file from Hotch and skim reading it. "She was in with Boyd and Sylvester for a long time though – why was that?"

"Agent Boyd had to take a phone call from the PD in Littleborough. They were asked to check on Agent Mansfield. It turns out his cabin is empty – looks like no one's been there for months," Hotch said. It was something he hadn't given much thought to yet.

"That's worrying," Reid said. "Are they checking on his whereabouts?"

Hotch nodded. "Boyd was going to go round to his apartment later. I've been through Rossi's file already. He's mentioned half a dozen names that could be possible UnSubs, all connected with cases, except two. Both of those are current agents: Warner and Hernandez. According to Rossi, both profile like a work-based stalker would; high rate of absenteeism and poor job performance, with issues against people in power. Rossi has had confrontations with both of them, and threats were made at the time, although they weren't taken seriously. Agent Sylvester is interviewing both of them today, although we agree they are unlikely. We would have suspected them before something big had occurred."

Reid stretched out his legs, Hotch catching sight of a wince. "Where do we go from here?"

"We have the letters," Hotch said. "I suggest we go through them and do a good, old fashioned linguistic analysis and see what type of person we're dealing with. We have nothing to narrow it down to someone who works here, or doesn't, but maybe how they write can tell us a bit more." He passed Reid a thin file that contained copies of the letters.

The hope was fading of their being a quick resolution. They knew who in their team was likely to attract a stalker's attention, but they were no closer to a definite trigger. Hotch had the uneasy feeling that they were going to need more clues to get any further, and that those clues may not be kind.

* * *

Martha Moore closed the door as her mother finally left and breathed a deep sigh of relief. Sometimes she despaired of being a considerate daughter; nothing was ever done right; she didn't call at the right time; she didn't come round often enough, and when she did it wasn't at the right time of day; she had let herself put on weight; her cooking wasn't up to much... the list continued. However, she had done her daughterly duty and could now put her feet up – once she had sorted through the laundry.

It was a Saturday job, sorting the clothes into colours, whites and delicates, getting them dry and then doing the ironing on the Sunday; and although it wasn't her ideal way of spending time, she took satisfaction from the fact that she was making John's life a little happier. His ex-wife had done nothing to help; he'd been responsible for the cleaning, washing, and even the cooking, and it wasn't as if her job was anywhere near as demanding as Martha's.

Martha taught third grade at Parkview Elementary School. It was a job she'd had for eighteen years and had no thoughts of giving it up. As she sorted the washing she considered the pupils in her class, smiling as she recalled their good points. She prided herself on being positive, on seeing the best in people, and she guessed that was why her job was a pleasure, rather than the cause of stress. She dug down in the laundry basket, pulling out the whites, and it was then that she found it; a slight line of blood on one of John's t-shirts.

At first, she figured it was from shaving, but then saw it was nowhere near the neck. Instead it was on the side.

He'd probably cut himself on shrubbery when he was fishing, she concluded, or wiped a bloody finger on it when he'd bit his nails too close. There were countless ways in which it could have happened.

But for some reason it irked her, and she just couldn't put a finger on it.

* * *

We look everywhere for certain answers. We ask a God who we can't be sure exists. We nose into other people's business in the hope of finding what we need to know. Yet sometimes, we'd rather not discover a certain piece of knowledge; a lover's unfaithfulness for example, or a reality we'd prefer to ignore.

As Agent Boyd tapped on Agent Mansfield's apartment door, he had the odd sensation that a life changing event was going to occur; that from that moment, things would be entirely different. He would be right too, because when he looked through the letter box into the hallway with its wooden flooring, installed by Mansfield eighteen months ago, he saw a trail of brown footprints leading away from the kitchen.

Boyd called for back-up, the faint sound of a radio audible from Mansfield's apartment, and then disregarding protocol, he lifted a leg and kicked the door with full force, a storm of anger blowing inside him.

_Pay my respects to grace and virtue, send my condolences to good._

The music grew louder, a false voice calling out.

"Andy?" Boyd called, although he knew it was futile. "Andy?"

_Give my regards to soul and romance, they always did the best they could_.

Nothing came back apart from the sound of the radio, still playing, as it had done for days.

_And so long to devotion, you taught me everything I know._

Boyd stood still, not daring to move. He didn't want to know this. He wanted his boss to be on that fishing trip, in his cabin. Not here. Not like this.

_Wave goodbye, wish me well._

He heard sirens in the distance, their call too late. "Bastard," he said. "Fucking bastard."

_You've gotta let me go._

Sometimes there is no shame in not knowing everything. Sometimes it is kinder to oneself to remain ignorant. Agent Boyd watched as the wooden floor that Mansfield had laid himself became full of the feet of people he'd never known, but the radio still played, still asking the same question.

_Are we human?_

* * *

_A/N Kim asked which authors and books were my favourites. I don't know, to be honest, there is no stand out! I like Stuart MacBride, Karin Slaughter, Tess Gerritsen, Patricia Cornwall, Kathy Reichs, Susan Hill – and more! I do think that Stephen Moffatt and Russell T Davies who worked on Doctor Who are amazing at creating plots. How things fall into place in the series is incredible!_

_Oh, and you can follow me on Twitter, I'mSarahMakin on there._


	11. Chapter Ten

_Thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter. I've written an extra scene already for regular reviewers, which follows on from the chapter after this (it isn't crucial to the plot – just a bit of HP interaction) so I will send it after the Thursday chapter is posted. Thank you to __**schokokaffee **__for the reviews as well (I need your email address again to send you the extra chapter) and __**Kim**__. And hello to __**Sussi Ray**_ _who has now got an account!_

_I'm at a wedding (and am a bridesmaid/make-up artist) this weekend, so my Sunday post will depend on the desperation of my readers. If you make me feel guilty enough between this and the next chapter, I will take my computer with me, find wi-fi and update on Sunday... This would, therefore, be a good time for lurkers to delurk! (Anonymous reviews are accepted, you don't need to have an account to review, or give any details – you won't get spammed!)_

_Thank you to __**Chiroho**__ for the superb beta once again._

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"And none will hear the postman's knock  
Without a quickening of the heart.  
For who can bear to feel himself forgotten?"

**- W.H. Auden**

**Chapter Ten**

November 5th

The house seemed empty, even though it was occupied by four people and a large St. Bernard dog. Morgan sat on the sofa, feeling uncomfortable. The parents were still grieving; they would never stop, he knew, no matter what happened.

Agent Wood was sitting on a chair, his fingers twitching nervously. Morgan knew that the agent was uncomfortable about being there, more used to a desk job translating high intelligence documents from half a dozen languages, but he also knew that Hotch had chosen him because of his analytical skills and his ability to notice small details that otherwise would have been missed. He was in his early fifties, and had been with the bureau for twenty-five years. Behind the same desk. Which meant being out in the field was a new experience.

"Can I get you a drink, Agents?" Mrs. Dwyer asked them. Her husband had just come downstairs from his office. David Dwyer had shrunk since the photos of him in the file on his daughter had been taken. He was greyer, his skin looked rough and thin, and his eyes had an opaqueness to them that suggested cataracts. He had aged, probably more than the years warranted.

"Coffee would be good," Morgan said. "Agent Wood?"

Wood nodded a little too much. "Coffee, great. Thanks."

Mrs. Dwyer gave them a soft smile and disappeared out of the lounge, leaving them with her husband. He looked at them apprehensively. "There can only be one reason you're here," he said, his voice low and quiet. "Whoever killed Evangeline has done it again."

Morgan studied him for a second. During the original investigation Dwyer had come under scrutiny from the lead investigator, against the guidance of the profiler at the time, Don Lavello. It had finished off Dwyer's career in congress, and he had returned to his old job as a business manager of a fairly large company. "We don't know, Mr. Dwyer," Morgan said. "We're looking into a disappearance of a small boy and we can't rule out a connection. I do need to ask you some questions. Some of them you may have heard before, but it maybe that you now see things differently."

Dwyer looked choked as he nodded. "I'll help you as best I can, Agent – Morgan, was it?"

Morgan nodded. "Before Evangeline disappeared you reported incidents of her clothes being taken and an intruder in the house. Was there anything else odd around that time?" He wondered if there had been any letters sent. Morgan wasn't sold on the idea of Jennifer Keeley being the UnSub; Lynch had told him about the lack of evidence on her computer, and as far as he had heard from Rossi, there was nothing else in her house to suggest she was involved. It didn't mean she wasn't, but it gave strength to Morgan's theory that this was a predatory paedophile.

Dwyer shook his head. "No. I don't think so..."

"This isn't a case of think, Mr. Dwyer. Since Evangeline's abduction I know you've gone through every little event that happened trying to finger out where you failed to protect her. You'll remember everything that happened at the time; I need you to be honest with me. Was there anything else that you did not disclose to the police?"

"Don't you think it's time we were honest, David?" His wife stood in the doorway, her face as drawn as his. Her eyes were freshly red, and Morgan could tell that tears had recently been spent. She was younger than her husband by a decade; her hair still shone, her face was only beginning to show the cracks of time.

Dwyer turned around to look at her, seeming shocked by her silent presence. "They were nothing to do with it," he said. "You know that. We agreed..."

"Another child has been taken. We do what we can. What was in them means nothing now – it was six years ago. Our lives have changed since then." She sounded strong; a mother's strength.

"I can assure you that this investigation is being conducted very quietly, Mr. Dwyer," Morgan said. "Whatever you tell us will only be used to help try to bring this little boy back. It will not be made public knowledge."

"I'll get them," Mrs. Dwyer said, giving her husband a look that said she would accept no argument.

Morgan heard soft footfalls climb the stairs. He maintained his gaze on Dwyer, waiting for him to speak.

"It was my fault that Eva was murdered," Dwyer said, eventually. "I must have done something, being in such a prominent position, that brought the murderer's attention to us."

"No," Morgan said. "It wasn't your fault. The only person responsible for Evangeline's death is the person who took her. The FBI agent on the case at the time suggested it was a paedophile. I suspect that is the case."

"Then what made him choose her?" The words sounded as broken as the man. "Why Eva? We thought she was so safe here."

"There may have been something about her that drew him," Morgan said. There were a dozen other possible explanations too, none which he wanted to go into right now as Mrs. Dwyer re-entered.

"David can tell you more about these," she said, handing Morgan a bundle of envelopes. "I'll go finish the coffee." She left without looking at her husband.

Morgan just held them for a few seconds, waiting for Dwyer to begin his explanation, to get the first word in. Different techniques worked on different people and in this case, Dwyer responded to silence. He didn't like it; he automatically had to fill it and take control. "We started to receive those," he gestured to what Morgan held, "about nine or ten months before Eva was taken. It seemed clear that someone was watching us, and knew too much. They said that Elizabeth had been having an affair and threatened to tell the press. They included photos of her lover entering the house. We never associated them with Eva's disappearance because the letters never mentioned her, not until just before she went." He looked away, out of the window, where an autumn sun was shining a weak light. It made his pupils contract, showing more of the startling blue of his irises.

Morgan began to glance through the contents of the envelopes. Each one contained a photo with just a few lines written on the back. There was enough to create fear, but not panic.

"All the photos are of the front of the house – did you never notice anyone taking these?" Morgan said, theories beginning to form in his mind.

Dwyer shook his head. "No. I did consider going to the police and asking it to be dealt with discreetly. But the writer never makes a threat. "

"He just comments on what he sees," Morgan said, passing the photos to Agent Wood. "There would have been nothing the police could have done." He sat back, watching Dwyer still as he glanced at his wife as she brought in the coffee. "Thank you," he took the cup that was given to him, declining milk and sugar. "You said in your statement that a few items of Evangeline's clothing were taken. She had a brother, who was a year younger; were any of his belongings ever taken?"

Mrs. Dwyer shook her head. "It was always the dresses," she said. "Never sweaters or underwear, always the dresses, the nicest ones. We thought it was the cleaner we had at the time. Marianne had a daughter the same age, and we though she was taking some of Eva's clothes for her, so we never became alarmed, and we turned a blind eye to it, because it was always the dresses that were maybe a bit too small for Eva, ones that she maybe would have worn once more before being given away to charity."

"What about the intruder?" Morgan said, leaving Wood to continue looking through the photos and their messages.

"That was one night when we were away," Dwyer said. "The alarm went off and the police were there within five minutes – my position meant that the alarm was connected directly to them – but nothing was taken. We knew someone had been in because the back patio doors had been forced open and some things on the sideboard had been moved. We figured it was an addict wanting to get something to sell who then got scared off."

"And we still don't know that it wasn't," Mrs. Dwyer said. "We don't know that any of these things were connected to Eva."

"Did your cleaner admit to taking the dresses?" Morgan said, looking at the woman.

She shook her head. "She denied it, but I was never convinced it wasn't her. She left just after Eva went missing."

"Is there anything else?" Morgan said. "It doesn't matter how small or insignificant it seems. It could still help."

The heavy silence fell again, the room back to being empty. There was no soul left in the house, and Morgan was surprised that they hadn't moved elsewhere.

"Before she was taken," Mrs. Dwyer said, cautiously, as if unsure of which words to use. "Eva developed an imaginary friend. It surprised me because it was a boy instead of a girl."

Morgan felt a shiver dance across his skin. "Do you remember his name?"

"Johnny," Mrs. Dwyer said. "Unless it was short form of a girl's name – she could have meant Johanna, I suppose."

Morgan nodded. "Maybe," he said, standing up. "We're going to take the photos with us. They won't be given to anyone outside of the BAU, and we will return them to you as soon as we can."

"We don't want them back," Mrs. Dwyer said adamantly. "Burn them when you're done. And please – let us know if you get him."

"I will," Morgan said. "One more thing – why didn't you ever move?"

David Dwyer shrugged. "This place has all our memories of Eva in it. We kept her room the way it was. Why would we leave?"

Morgan could think of a thousand reasons why, but none needed to be shared. He gave them a nod, followed out of the door by Agent Wood, and as soon as he was halfway down the path he pulled out his cell phone. "Rossi?" he said, as it was answered. "You still with Ms. Fletcher?"

* * *

Rossi came back into the room and sat down, putting his cell phone on the table in front of him. Emily looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and concern, her hands still nursing an empty cup of coffee. They'd been there almost an hour, going through everything again with Ms. Fletcher about the night that Alfie was taken.

"Juliet," Rossi said, looking at her directly. "The letters you received from Mrs. Keeley. How did you know they were from her? Did she sign them?"

Juliet looked puzzled for a moment, as if she couldn't believe the question. "There's no one else who would have sent them," she said. "There's no one else who hates me that much, or at all. I don't socialise, I keep myself to myself, my colleagues are all fairly similar – slightly autistic I guess you'd say, and although I've been in the public eye because of the research I do and the comments I've made about my passion for the research, I've never had anyone criticise me in the way she has."

"Mrs. Keeley's written letters published in newspapers and magazines that have referred to you, is that correct?" Emily said.

Juliet nodded. "I spoke with her once when she and her band of men were outside the lab. She seemed to know a lot about me... I just assumed the letters were from her." Her voice faded and she frowned.

"Did she sign the letters?" Rossi said. "We need to know."

Juliet looked away from them, avoiding their eyes. She shook her head. "No," she said. "No one signed them. They were typed, with just a date at the top, and then like a diary of what I had done that day. It would mention about my washing being out or the gardener coming, or Geoff being here. But they were never signed. I just assumed they were from her and it seemed like a woman writing them too."

"How? What made you think it was a woman?" Rossi said, exerting pressure with his tone. They'd been gentle with her so far, but he still felt as if she wasn't helping them as much as she could.

"They way they were written. The sentences were so detailed, and one mentioned my heliotrope sweater. A man wouldn't know what colour heliotrope was, let alone refer to it on paper," she said, some scorn in her words.

He did know what it was, but he didn't wish to contradict her. However, it wasn't a word he had in his working vocabulary, but then again, he didn't suppose it was in Emily's either. "Were you ever sent any photos?"

"No," she said directly. "Never."

"And did the writer ever mention Alfie?" he said.

She shook her head. "No. It seemed as if they didn't know Alfie existed. Like I said, Geoff was mentioned; my mother was when she visited, and they described Janine a few times, talking about what clothes she was wearing. It was always accurate, so someone must have been watching, and I always thought it was her, because she had time on her hands, and I couldn't think of anyone else..."

Rossi could see that she was breaking, as she had been slowly doing all morning. Families were generally predictable when a child was taken; there would frequently be blame between the parents; they would comb over every single possibility of who it could be, protecting their relations and close friends and finally pointing a finger at the easiest, less painful suspect. Juliet Fletcher wasn't following type. She was panicking, that was clear, but considering she hadn't seen her son for almost four days, she was neither hysterical nor clinically calm. It was as if she was working backwards through the different phases now the obvious suspect was falling out of the picture. "Juliet, we have nothing to suggest that Mrs. Keeley has taken your son. We have been through her house and her computer, and found nothing suspicious, although we haven't located her yet and we are continuing to look." He was waiting for Kevin to get back to him with a list of contacts for Mrs. Keeley in the hope that they would know something.

Juliet looked away again, staring at the landscape on the wall. "Geoff was convinced the letters were from her," she said quietly. "He said that she would have our son and be holding him to get revenge on me. That's why he hired a private investigator; he thought he could sort it out himself."

Rossi nodded; he'd thought as much. Geoff Thompson was focused, and once he got someone in his sights he didn't check in the corner of his eye to see if anyone else was standing there. They couldn't rule out Jennifer Keeley as Alfie's abductor until they found her, but he thought it was very unlikely.

"Juliet," Emily said, putting one hand on the woman's shoulder. "You need to put the idea that Jennifer Keeley is the kidnapper to one side. We have to look at other options. Have you seen anyone hanging around d outside your house?"

"I haven't noticed," Juliet said. "I've been here maybe three nights a week on average, for the past six months. The project I've been working on has been in Massachusetts , so I've been staying there a few nights a week. You need to speak with Janine – she may have noticed more."

Emily nodded. "We will. Wouldn't Janine have mentioned it to you if she saw anything strange?"

Juliet shrugged. "I don't know. I guess so. But she knows how busy I've been – she may not have wanted to worry me."

Rossi stood up. "I'm going to speak with Janine," he said. "Juliet, I'd like you to talk though as much as you can with Emily, thinking of any strange events that may have happened however irrelevant they may seem." He gave Emily a quick look that he knew she would interpret correctly, and then headed out into the hallway and through the kitchen towards the garden, where Janine was mulching plants ready for the winter cold.

She looked up as the patio door creaked open, giving him a quick nod before discarding her gloves and standing up. "Agent Rossi," she said. "Is Juliet okay?"

"She's bearing up," Rossi said, walking down the steps onto the lawn. "I need to ask you a few things about the weeks before Alfie was taken."

She nodded, moving towards him. "Anything I can help with."

He reached a wooden bench and sat down. She strode over to him, long strides that were powerful and purposeful. Janine was a tall, solidly built girl, who seemed capable and steady, but not maternal. He wondered why Juliet Fletcher had selected her to be Alfie's nanny, and probably primary care giver. "Had you noticed anything odd around here lately?" he said as she sat next to him.

"It's a strange neighbourhood in general," she said, looking at the rose bushes that were in need of pruning. "It's usually so quiet, and everyone values their privacy, so any movement is noticed."

"Any strange cars, or people walking up and down who aren't local?"

"No. There haven't been strangers around. We get people walking down this road quite a bit, as it leads to the park, but they're ones I recognise because they live around here. Some even say hello if they see us in the garden. My old school teacher is a regular – she takes a walk to the park every weekend," Janine said. "And needless to say, I go there with Alfie most days."

Rossi inwardly groaned. Nobody needed to have been staking out the house, just passing by regularly. "Have you noticed any of Alfie's clothing going missing, or any strange behaviour from him – mentions of seeing someone perhaps?"

She shook her head. "Socks always go missing don't they, but no, the clothing's been fine. He mentions his imaginary friend quite a lot; he seems to think he lives in the park, but comes in the garden sometimes too. He's called Ronnie – it's an odd name for a small boy to pick, and I've no idea where he heard it."

Rossi stood up, he'd heard enough. The UnSub was someone Alfie and Janine knew. It was someone who'd had the opportunity to befriend the boy, which is why there had been no screaming or commotion the when he was taken. "Janine," he said. "I need you to come back to the office with me. I want you to write down the names or a brief description of everyone you know around the park, or who passes by here, particularly anyone who speaks to Alfie, or who he trusts. You can think about it while we're on our way." He didn't want to do it here, not with Juliet around. If she knew what Janine was doing she was likely to want to get involved, which could influence Janine. "Grab your purse and a coat. I'll meet you by the front door."

He walked back into the house and found Prentiss in the kitchen. "Where's Juliet?" he said.

She shook her head and eyed him disdainfully. "Taking a bath. I can't see us getting any more information out of her. She's clearly extremely good at what she does, but isn't..."

"Of this planet," he said. "She's naive and lacks insight into people's motives, making her susceptible to suggestions. I think we'll get more information out of Janine." He explained what had been said in the garden.

Emily nodded. "I'll let Agent Seymour know we're going. She's going to have to stay here again tonight. We can't yet rule out a request for ransom, or some other contact from the kidnapper."

It took ten minutes for Janine to get herself ready, looking nervous as she met Rossi and Prentiss by the door. "Is this going to take long?" she said, looking at Prentiss rather than Rossi.

Emily gave her a reassuring smile. "It depends. But don't worry – where we're going is just like an office."

They walked out to the Suburban, getting half way across the road before Emily paused. "Let's head back to the house," she said.

Rossi looked at her, not quite sure what she meant, but her tone of voice stopped him from being pig-headed.

He was just about to ask her why when a noise louder than thunder shook the ground, and for the second time in a matter of days, he found himself being thrown to the ground.

* * *

_Comments, thoughts, predictions – all appreciated. Just hit review_

_Sarah x_


	12. Chapter Eleven

_Sorry I haven't managed to do review replies yet – I've been struck with a migraine again, and I hope these author's notes are okay as I'm not seeing particularly straight!_

_An extra scene, following this chapter will be sent to regular reviews once I receive a review for this chapter – I'm not hanging on for a review, but if I send it before you've read this, it'll spoil this chapter! For those who read but don't review, the extra scene isn't crucial to the plot, so you're not missing out!_

_If I get over 300 reviews (in total) before Sunday afternoon BST, I'll post the next chapter then... as I'll feel guilty for not doing! I am at a wedding all weekend, so getting internet will not be easy, but I'll try to find a wifi hotspot somewhere. I'll probably try to do that regardless of how many reviews because I'm too soft, but if I can't, it'll be Tuesday. That doesn't mean you shouldn't review *grins*._

_Thank you to __**Chiroho**__ for the beta._

_Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy._

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"Blessed is he who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed."

**- Jonathan Swift**

**Chapter Eleven**

He didn't hang around after the explosion, knowing that he risked being seen once they began to collect their faculties. It had been a good one; powerful enough so that it blew out the windscreen and caused a nice big noise and a bit of force, but not enough so that it hurt anyone. After all, there were people around who didn't deserve to be caught in any crossfire.

He'd slipped back into the office without anyone noticing he'd been gone for longer than he was entitled, not that they would have complained – he put in plenty more hours than what was required. It had been his lunch hour anyway, and there was nothing so urgent that he had to eat at his desk. Instead he'd found out where members of the BAU were and had driven over to Broken Cross, finding the Suburban easily. The road it had been parked on had houses on only one side, the other being a park with dense shrubbery and trees separating it from the road. No one would have seen him slip out of the almost identical car, staying on the tree-covered side, and then slipping under the car and securing the explosive.

It was a remotely controlled device, simple and easy to make, with nothing distinguishable about it. There was no signature, which is what he knew they would look for, and its absence would cause them frustration. He'd stood in the park, in the midst of the bushes, camouflaged. Seven years in the military had served him well. He knew how to hide. But he also knew not to linger. As soon as they had recovered from the initial shock of the explosion he'd slipped away, back across the park to the place where he'd moved his car.

His work was done for now; but not for the day.

* * *

Autumn sunlight trickled in through the kitchen window, casting an ethereal glow on the body. Hotch looked around the kitchen, noting every object that seemed out of place. Mansfield had been making coffee before he was shot; the coffee pot had shattered as Mansfield had fallen, leaving shards of glass over the kitchen floor, the coffee now a sticky stain on top of the tiles, mingled with the congealed blood.

Death was never pretty. There was no peace to be found there. Hotch looked at the shell of Agent Mansfield, the thoughts inside his mind turning his face to stone. They had never considered that Mansfield was incommunicado for this reason. They had pictured him at his cabin, fishing peacefully beside a river. He hadn't considered the letter sent to JJ a serious threat, hence not cancelling his vacation. A vacation he'd never actually managed to take.

"There's no sign of forced entry," Reid said. "Unless Mansfield had the door open so the killer could just walk in, he let them into the house."

"I'd go with the latter," Hotch said. "There are two cups out. He was getting a drink for his killer."

"Which means he knows him. It wasn't some random person knocking on his door," Reid said, looking at the mail that had been placed on the counter. "By the looks of things he hadn't be here long either. No suspicious activity has been reported by the neighbours, so I guess he used a silencer."

Hotch nodded. "Agent Boyd," he said, looking at the man who was standing in the corner, still in a state of shock. "We need to keep this quiet for now. Reid, can you go to Agent McAllister and ask him to speak with me as soon as he can?"

Reid nodded, leaving the room. Agent McAllister was the agent-in-charge of the investigation now that it had become a murder inquiry. Boyd was too close, and looking at his demeanour, Hotch imagined he'd be put on leave with immediate effect.

"You think this is the same guy that's targeting your team?" he said, his voice monotone.

"It's a possibility," Hotch said. "Do you know if Mansfield took anything home with him to look through? Any files?"

Boyd shook his head. "He may have, but it's unlikely as he was going away." Boyd looked away, clearly distraught. "Why would your UnSub want to kill Mansfield? The case wasn't even a priority..."

"He may have thought that Mansfield was onto something," Hotch said. "If it is the same person, then there's a likelihood that it's someone who works at the Academy."

Boyd looked at him, his eyes steely. "God forbid I even get my hands on him. Mansfield was a good agent, and a good boss and friend. He's not a person you want to get rid of."

"Well, someone clearly didn't want him around," McAllister was standing behind Hotch, his presence automatically changing the atmosphere in the room. "I need to ask both of you and Agent Reid to leave while forensics goes through everything. Then we'll need to interview Agent Boyd, as you discovered the body. Any theories, feel free to share them later – we'll get the facts here first."

Hotch didn't move. He knew McAllister mainly by reputation, having never had much to do with him and his unit. They were effectively a senior murder team, taking over cases when a local PD wasn't able to deal with them, or in situations like this, when the victim was one of their own and the feds had to take control. He was an alpha male with a lack of tolerance and empathy; direct in his manner and approach, and very much a member of the old school. Hotch figured he should be ready for retirement within a couple of years, and looked forward to when his breed had finally died out of the bureau. "Agent McAllister, we suspect that the UnSub..."

"Killer."

"..._UnSub_ could be someone who works at the Academy, possibly another agent. This needs to be kept under wraps so that the UnSub is unaware that Agent Mansfield has been found," Hotch said, his voice turning quiet as was his nature to do when angry.

"Why? I need more than that Agent Hotchner."

"Actually, you don't. This is a current investigation, and although it falls under your jurisdiction, it's still under mine. I can spend ten minutes explaining to you here and now why this needs to remain secret, or I can let you get on with your job now, and we can discuss this later in my office," Hotch said, maintaining that same quiet force to his tone. He wanted McAllister in his office, on his terms, and not McAllister bulldozing through his team in his usual manner.

McAllister shot him a look and walked off, and Hotch hoped he'd said enough. He looked at Boyd, whose skin had turned a pale shade of purple, probably due to him controlling the urge to land one on McAllister's jaw. "I'll take you back to Quantico," Hotch said. "You shouldn't be driving."

Boyd nodded, casting his eyes downwards. "Will this be McAllister's case?" he said, sounding desperate.

Hotch shook his head. "No. He'll need to have some involvement, but I know that they've got an ongoing murder enquiry that's gaining a lot of media attention. We did the profile for them a few weeks ago, but they're nowhere near closer to finding the UnSub. It's more likely to be shared between the BAU and your team, with someone from McAllister's liaising." He walked out of the apartment and towards the elevator, Boyd half a step behind.

"As long as it's not McAllister," Boyd said, his eyes dark.

Hotch nodded. He could agree with that.

* * *

There was a trickle of something warm running down her face, and it took a couple of seconds for her to realise that it was blood. She smelt the iron of it and a wave of nausea hit her. Forcing herself to focus on the pattern of her breath she sat up, looking around her. Shock wore off quickly these days, it had to; she needed to be aware of what was going on around her with a clear mind.

Neighbours and passers-by were now congregating, the sound of sirens in the distance. Someone would have called the fire department, rightly so, and no doubt they would have the local PD here any second.

Emily stood up, looking towards Rossi who was now on his feet as well. He was speaking to Janine, reassuring her, and sending her back towards the house where Ms. Fletcher was standing. Emily was aware of her shouting to them, panicking. Understandably, she would think that the explosion was an attack against her.

"That wasn't meant to hurt," Rossi said, stepping towards her. "That was another one meant to scare and intimidate. He's almost using terrorist tactics."

She nodded. "How did he know we were here? Unless the bomb was attached when it was in the parking lot and on a timer?"

Rossi shrugged. "Maybe. It'll be checked by one of the experts and we'll know more then. I should call Hotch," he said, pulling out his cell phone. "I think you should go check on Janine and Juliet. See if you can get Janine to start making that list – just make sure that Juliet is occupied elsewhere otherwise she'll taint what Janine remembers."

Emily nodded, glad of the direction and the chance to pull herself together. The local PD arrived as she walked through the gates, making a beeline for Rossi. Within a few minutes she would expect Morgan to be here, Hotch as well; she just needed to hold it together until then.

Juliet was standing at the front door, her arms folded. "Is it the same person who has Alfie who did that?" she said. "Is this Keeley's fucking group's work?"

Emily wanted to shake her for a second, to take her away from her self-centred world. "We don't think so, Ms. Fletcher," she said, remaining calm. "We believe it's connected with something else. Would you be able to make us some coffee, please?"

The woman nodded. "Sure. Is there going to be a load of media people there? If there is, Geoff..."

"They'll be given a reason why we were here that will have nothing to do with your son or Mr. Thompson," Emily said. "I need to speak with Janine."

"Why? Why is she so important all of a sudden? Alfie's my son..."

"We will speak with you about it later, Ms. Fletcher," Emily firmly, an unavoidable trace of annoyance in her tone. "I really need to speak with Janine." She left her still standing at the doorway.

Janine was in the sunroom, seated on the arm of one of the chairs and looking out of the window. Her posture sagged, and it didn't take a profiler to realise what the young woman was going through. She hadn't suffered any cuts or bruises from the explosion. Emily unconsciously brushed fingers against her temple, then shook her hair so it was a little looser, covering the cut that was beginning to throb.

"The explosion wasn't meant for you," Emily said, keeping a little distance from Janine, not wanting to encroach on her space. "It was nothing to do with what's going on here."

Janine turned around slowly, dark hair tumbling out of the braid it was tied back in. "We could have died," she said. "We could have been in that car."

Emily shook her head. "No," she said softly. "Whoever set off the explosion wanted to scare us, not hurt us. Janine, I really need you to try to focus back on the people you saw in the park, or walking past this house."

Janine did nothing for a moment, just staring out the window. "I'll get some paper," she said eventually. "I'll start to write down the people who are regulars. I don't know all their names."

Emily nodded. "Write down as much information as you can about how they were with Alfie. How interested in him were they? How did he respond to them? We're looking for someone he wouldn't be frightened by because he didn't make any noise when he was taken; it's someone he would trust."

Janine looked at her grimly. "I told Juliet we should have called the police right away. Alfie could be anywhere by now, with anyone. This is such a mess."

"Do you think Jennifer Keeley has anything to do with it?" Emily said, still giving Janine distance.

"No. I didn't from the start. It was just the safest thing to assume, and Geoff encouraged Ju to think that. I think he was petrified of the police being involved," she said, stepping over to a side table and pulling out a pad of lined paper from a drawer. "Do you have a pen?"

Emily rummaged in her jacket pocket and pulled one out, handing it to Janine.

"Thanks. This might take me some time." It was a dismissal, and one Emily was quite happy to take. Janine seemed more grounded than Alfie's mother, but her hands were tied to a certain extent with what she could say. Rossi had been right to want to get her to their office, where they could interview her on neutral ground, out of Juliet's earshot.

Emily heard a familiar voice coming from the hallway. "I'll leave you to it," she said to Janine. "We made need you to come with us shortly."

Janine nodded. "I think I could do with getting out here for a while," she said. "Juliet's wanted me here constantly since Alfie disappeared, and I need a change of scenery. Plus what's just happened has kind of made me nervous."

"You're not the only one," Emily said, closing the door to the sun room as she left.

Hotch was in the hallway, talking in quiet tones to Rossi. Both men looked up as she appeared.

"Are you okay?" Hotch said. He turned away from the other man, and Emily was sure Rossi hid a smile. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head. "Just a cut. It's nothing. What's happening out there?"

"Chadd Hillier is there with his team to look at the bomb. Agent Boyd's there too. We were on our way back from Mansfield's apartment when I got Rossi's call," Hotch said. She could feel his eyes examining her, checking for injuries.

"Agent Mansfield?" she said, knowing by his tone that not everything was as it should be.

Hotch gave her the look she'd seen too many times before.

"No," she said. "How?" If it had been a bomb they would have known about it sooner.

"He was shot; a few days ago in his apartment. Agent McAllister's there now with his team. We need to get you back to the BAU and have you give statements. And Emily, you need to clean up that cut before it gets infected," Hotch said, his piercing eyes directed at her temple.

She touched it self-consciously, her fingers coming away reddened by the blood. She had forgotten about the pain and had thought it had stopped. "Janine's in the sun room, making a list of people," she said, looking at Rossi. "She's quite anxious to be elsewhere, and I don't think that's because of what just happened." Her voice was now low; she was unsure of where Juliet was.

"You head back with Hotch," Rossi said. "I'll take Janine back with me once she's done with the list. Then I'll go through it with her once we get back. Juliet's going to stay here with a couple of agents. We'll have to up the security in case the explosions are a coincidence and that one wasn't intended for us at all."

Hotch nodded. "We know that's not the case. The UnSub is sure to have been waiting somewhere, probably concealed in the park behind were you were parked. He would have wanted to have seen your reaction. This is all about creating fear."

"Why?" Emily said. "We see things all the time that cause fear. What's he trying to achieve?"

Hotch moved his eyes from the floor to Emily. "I don't know. But whatever it is, I doubt he's finished yet."

A door opening caused Emily to look towards it. Agent Boyd stood there, his complexion almost grey. "Agent Reid's on his way," he said. "I'm going to hang around here with the bomb disposal team – I'll catch a ride back with them."

"I'll take Janine back with Reid," Rossi said. "You and Emily head back. And Hotch,"

Hotch turned around, already heading to the door.

"I think you should consider booking the team and Agent Boyd into hotels tonight. It may be too risky to stay anywhere obvious."

Hotch nodded. "I speak with Strauss and consider the risk."

Emily followed him outside, the area around them now cordoned off while Hillier did his work. He would secure the vehicle, making sure there were no more devices, and then look around to see if any more had been placed, such as in trash barrels. Then forensics would come in, searching in the vicinity for clues as to who had been there.

Hotch walked swiftly to the car, giving a brief nod to Hillier who saluted them in his usual comedic manner. A couple of agents from Hillier's team had remained with the vehicles, making sure there were no further attempts to wire them up to more explosives.

Emily climbed into the passenger's side, closing her eyes as she sat back, a hand holding a handkerchief to her temple, although the blood had stopped now. She felt overwhelmingly exhausted and just wanted to sleep, but that wasn't an option; not yet.

"Are you okay, Emily?" he said quietly, as they drove off.

"I'm tired," she said, not wanting to show a weakness, but unable to lie. "I feel like I can't think straight. Maybe I'm in shock or something."

"Possibly," Hotch said. "Why don't you lie down on the sofa in my office for an hour? I have to see Strauss immediately. We need to put procedures into place to support our safety. There'll only be so many attempts at trying to scare us before he goes for more."

Any other day she would have rejected even the thought of sleeping on the job, especially when a child was still missing, but today she felt tempted. "I should be helping Morgan and Rossi," she said. "We're running low anyway. I can't afford time to nap."

"You'll be able to think better after you've had time to reenergise," he said. "Just take an hour."

She almost nodded, the lull of the engine and Hotch's presence making her more drowsy, drowsy enough that she was almost oblivious to the hand he put on her thigh, squeezing it softly.

* * *

_Please review_

_Sarah x_

_As an added note, Joe Mantegna is on Twitter and tweets pretty frequently, sometimes with photos from the set. Some of you might be interested in following._


	13. Chapter Twelve

_Thank you for the reviews and messages – it is always very nice to get them – and in return, here is chapter 12!_

_Thank you to __**First Time Reviewer **__(don't let it be your last!), __**Kim, Atie **__and __**schokokaffee. **__If you normally review but just didn't get chance to review the last chapter, I'll send you the extra scene on your next review, so I know I won't spoil that chapter by having sent it to you before you'd read Chapter Eleven._

_They'll be another extra scene in a few chapters – when one will fit into the story._

_Thanks to __**Chiroho**__ for the beta!_

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"Remorse for what? You people have done everything in the world to me. Doesn't that give me equal right?"

**- Charles Manson**

**Chapter Twelve**

**November 5****th**

Reid sat at the table in the conference room, a map of the area in front of him. He was looking at two things; a geographical profile of the person who seemed intent on terrorizing them, and any links between the houses from where the children had been taken. Usually, he would have concentrated on just one at a time, but his mind wasn't allowing him to do that right now.

The connection between the houses of the abducted children was straightforward; they were all near parks. Alfie Fletcher lived on one of the roads that led to Bruntwood Park; Evangeline Dwyer was two streets away from Alexandra Park; Amber Livesy lived next to Woodbank, and Matthew Horsfield's house backed on to the Cale Green. This meant he was assuming that the four cases were related, but given that there was a clear link between Evangeline and Alfie's disappearances with the letters, he thought it was a safe assumption to make.

He'd mapped out the team's houses in blue, and also circled Alfie Fletcher's street. If their tormentor did work for the FBI and was based at the Academy, then he was also likely to live in the area too, or currently be based there. Reid's mind began to whirr, streaming through the different possibilities. Whoever it was knew enough about explosives to not make mistakes – something that would be difficult for a first time bomber; that suggested he had some form of training, or had worked for the FBI's explosives unit. He was also good with computers, having hacked into the personal files of the BAU members as well as private email accounts. Reid stood up, leaving the conference room and locking the door.

Hundreds of FBI agents, and support workers, had been trained on explosives. Through firsthand experience, the induction training, or just through reading the available manuals; similarly with computer knowledge.

Reid pushed open the door into Garcia's hideout. She looked up and raised an eyebrow, appearing paler than usual. "Is everyone alright?" she said. "How's Emily..."

"She's asleep in Hotch's office," Reid said. He'd noticed she was jumpier than usual, asking each time she saw any of them how the others were. "Garcia, do you have access to details of everyone who works here?"

She nodded. "I do at the moment. I don't usually – well, officially anyway. What do you need me to find?"

"No 'computer goddess of genius' today?" he said, concerned by her lack of predictability.

She shook her head. "The genius still resides, but is lacking in humour while her friends are being targeted by some insane madman. What do you need me to look up?"

"Anyone who has had explosives training, or has been involved with that team at some point, and also has enough computer knowledge to be able to hack into secured systems," Reid said, knowing that somehow she would be able to develop perimeters for her search out of that.

"Okay, you have three hundred and eighty seven names. I can print them..." she looked up, her eyes almost mocking him.

"Narrow it by age. We're looking for someone between thirty and fifty."

"You've lost a hundred and two names. Anything else?"

Reid thought for a moment. "Yeah, people who have been based here for at least twelve months." They'd already agreed that their stalker had been following them for some time, possibly more than a year and likely to have been significantly longer. It was almost as if he had been building up his momentum, planning the events in great detail, and simply having to look for an appropriate time and place to carry them out.

"That takes you to one hundred and ninety six. And out of them, one hundred and twelve are male." Garcia looked up at him again. "I'm printing the list. Is Hotch still in with Strauss?"

Reid nodded. "I guess they've got a lot to discuss. Thanks Garcia – this is useful." He looked at the sheets she'd passed to him. They contained names, dates of birth and basic information including address, marital status and education history. Unfortunately none of them had stalker written next to their name, but somewhere, they would find something that told them the same information.

Reid realised the conference room was unlocked after trying several times to turn the key to get in. On entering, he saw Rossi looking up at him smiling in amusement. "How many doctorates, and you still can't tell whether a door's locked or not?"

Reid glared at him, sitting back down in front of his map. "All the children that have been abducted lived near parks," Reid said. If you plot them on a map, it's clear to see."

Rossi looked over at where Reid was pointing and nodded. "He's hunting them," he said. "All are from affluent families, with good security around the house which makes it a challenge. He justifies what he's doing – if he wasn't meant to take these children then the security would prevent him from doing so. He watches them, probably befriends them so they trust him, and then takes them when he can no longer restrain his urges."

"You're completely ruling out Jennifer Keeley with this theory," Reid said.

Rossi nodded. "I know; but for me, she was never in the picture anyway. I have a list of her relatives here, and her most recently dialled non-commercial numbers. We do still need to get a hold of her, even if it's just to rule her out. And we need to bring in the parents of Amber and Matthew as well. These letters play a part – it can't be a coincidence that both Alfie's mom and the Dwyer's received them prior to the children being taken.

"Is it another form of justification?" Reid said. "If you watch anyone for long enough, you'll find some things about them that aren't what you'd agree with. Maybe these letters are a warning - that if they don't change their ways they will lose the child. He points out what they're doing, and if it's not rectified then he sees taking the child as being justified."

Rossi nodded. "I think you've hit on something there, Reid. Now we've just got to work out who it could be, and in an area with a population that's not exactly small, we've got our work cut out."

* * *

Emily had been asleep for just over an hour when Hotch came back into his office. She didn't stir, and he didn't expect her too. As tough as she was, as they all were, she needed to rest. However, just over an hour was all she was going to get right now.

"Emily," he said, putting a hand on her arm and giving it a gentle shake. Her hair was mussed and her shirt untucked, the blue material riding up above her waist showing a sliver of pale skin. "Em, you need to wake up."

She began to stir, slowly and sleepily. Her eyes opened, unsurprised to see where she was. "Has anything happened?" she said, sitting up and rubbing the corners of her eyes.

"No. I've just spoken with Strauss. We're all meeting in the conference room in ten minutes. I figured you'd want to freshen up."

Emily nodded. "I think that's a good idea. Do we get to stay at home tonight, or are we being relocated?"

Hotch raised his eyebrows, giving a small shrug. "We'll have to discuss it as a group. I'll see you in there." He put a hand on her shoulder as he went to leave, the only gesture he allowed himself. When he'd heard that the vehicle she and Rossi had taken that morning had been involved in an explosion, the sense of anger and fear had been excruciating, and he'd had to control the urge to lose himself in her as soon as he'd seen that she was alright.

Now his emotions were repressed even further; Strauss knowing about them put them under the spotlight. Any sign of unprofessional behaviour could easily lead to Emily being moved off the team. He'd taken a chance telling her to sleep in his office, but seeing as JJ had done the same thing a few weeks ago, he figured he'd just set a precedent.

"Hotch," Reid's voice hit him as he walked into the conference room. "We've come up with a few things." He was taken through a conversation Rossi and Reid had had just a few minutes previously. "What do you think?"

"It seems viable," Hotch said. "Did Janine come up with anything of interest?"

"A list of names a mile long," Rossi said. "Fortunately for us she has a good memory. Garcia's running checks on the names she's provided. W e made need to send a couple of the agents on loan to the team into the park to do a bit of surveillance."

Hotch nodded. "There shouldn't be a problem with that. But wouldn't we be best to target a park which isn't connected with any of the children that have already gone missing? If he is developing a pattern, he won't choose the same area twice."

"There are six more parks within a five mile radius," Reid said. "That would be a lot of ground to cover. If we look at the probable time of death of Evangeline Dwyer and Matthew Horsfield, we know he keeps them for around two weeks before disposing of the bodies in a secluded, rarely used area. He is probably too preoccupied with Alfie right now to be selecting his next target."

The door opened and Emily and Morgan entered, sitting down in their usual places. "Why does he keep them for two weeks?" Morgan said, having caught the last part of the conversation. Why that length of time?"

"A number of reasons," Rossi said. "If he has a relationship with them, two weeks could be the time it takes for him to 'fall out of love'. They could have become violent towards him and aggressive, which he'll take as a sign of their rejection and punish them. It may be that he fails to feed them, in which case they may be at the point of death anyway. The post-mortems from Evangeline and Matthew don't show any one particular cause of death. Both had multiple fractures – that was all that could be said with certainty."

Hotch felt everyone's eyes draw to him. Footsteps told him that Garcia, JJ and Kevin were on their way. Once they were seated he could inform them of what Strauss had suggested they do. He wasn't sure how it was going to go down, or even if they would agree that it was a sensible plan. For him it was the only option; he had to keep his team safe.

Silence was his starting point. He did a quick, almost habitual evaluation of people's moods. This helped him determine what sort of tack he had to use when putting a case forward, or right now, in suggesting something that might not be well received. Morgan looked the most relaxed he had in a week or more, now his own inner demons had been soothed; Rossi was the same as usual, probably the most predictable; Reid would be factual as always, but Hotch could tell that he was itching to get back to his life outside the BAU, a life no one else shared; JJ seemed stronger today, strength being drawn from her family; Emily was generally flexible enough to deal with whatever was thrown at her; Garcia was more worried that usual, the spark she normally fired that kept them all going was missing. and that concerned him more so than anyone. However, she did have Kevin, who was slightly separate from all that was going on, laid back and grounded. Hotch was glad of his presence for more reasons than just his technical ability.

"As you know, Agent Mansfield was found murdered in his own apartment this morning. We have reason to believe that the person who killed him is the same UnSub who is targeting the BAU," he glanced round them. A tense atmosphere had descended. "Although the attacks on us haven't been intended to kill, it's clear that these attacks may escalate. Our UnSub doesn't stick to just one mode of attack – explosives – as previously thought.

"We've already discussed the possibility that he might be an employee of the FBI; an agent or someone supporting them. This seems likely, given what he knows. Today's attack suggests that he is close enough to be able to track our moves even when they are not planned in advance, so after a long discussion with Chief Strauss we are putting forward to you the possibility of moving everyone involved with the team to a safe location while we find out who is behind these attacks, and the murder of Agent Mansfield."

"I wouldn't have thought hotels were a safe option," Kevin said, rather quickly. "It would be easy to hack into a hotel's database and find out which one had been checked into. You have the possibility of switching each night, and having people stay in separate places, but again, it's not impossible to track people down, even if they're using pseudonyms."

"You're right," Hotch said. "And we're also talking here about not using the BAU as a base of operations. We have to disappear off the grid to make it harder for us to be targeted."

"But isn't that going to make it harder for us to catch him?" Reid said, looking confused. "If the attacks stop, we can lose the trail."

"The attacks aren't going to stop," Morgan said. "He's obsessed; with us, and with completing his mission. He already has an end goal in sight, and he won't stop voluntarily until he gets there. If we make it harder for him to carry out these plans, he's potentially going to make more mistakes trying to get to us."

"Then can we not just say we have a case in Ohio or somewhere?" Reid said, surprising Hotch. He was being the most reluctant so far.

Rossi shook his head. "If he works here, in this building, then he will know within hours that we arn't away on a case. After today's explosion and Mansfield's murder, news is going to get round about what's happening. If we stay here, we make ourselves sitting ducks."

"If we didn't have the Alfie Fletcher case, then most of you would be instructed to take a vacation," Hotch said. "However, we don't have that luxury and we can't abandon the hunt for a possible serial killer." He paused. "I'm not suggesting that we stay in a hotel, or even that we separate. We need a base that is also somewhere to stay."

"The FBI has numerous properties in the area, but they'd be easy to find," Rossi said. "It would have to be some place that wasn't owned by the Feds."

Hotch shook his head. "There are properties that are off the grid. However, the one that Chief Strauss suggested has just been acquired by the FBI, but isn't in its database yet – it is a safe house. It's thirty miles west of where we are now, and was a disused farm that has been restored over the past twelve months. It's big enough to hold us and members of Agent Mansfield's team who have been considered possible targets as well."

"Is there a pool?" It was Morgan, of course.

Hotch shook his head. "No, but there is a sauna, I believe, that's been installed where one of the sheds used to be. I cannot make you go; it's your choice, but I strongly recommend that you do."

"What about interviewing people, Hotch?" Morgan said. "We need to speak with the parents of the other two children. I was going to have them brought here this afternoon."

There was no murmuring or conferring amongst the others; they were waiting for his answer too. "We have a few options on that score. The first is that you go ahead as planned – which is what I suggest you do. The second is that you go to them, taking two agents from Agent Boyd's team with you who will stay with the vehicle. The third is that you go straight to the safe house, and then we will arrange a meeting point with the parents, cutting out the possibility of any surveillance on the plans."

"I'll have them come here," Morgan said. "But do we have anything in mind should we need to go places or meet people?"

Hotch nodded. "We have to continue with both investigations. Agent McAllister's team are investigating Mansfield's murder. They're using the lab here at Quantico, and should have forensic information for us within twenty-four hours. They won't know our location, nor should anyone else for obvious reasons. Is there anyone who feels that they should stay here?"

No one responded.

"Sir?"

"Garcia?" Hotch said, looking at Penelope.

"I have my night at the helpline – they rely on me to be there..."

"Pen, I don't think that's going to happen," Kevin answered for him. "He's sure to know you do that. It's too much of a risk."

She looked upset, but Hotch knew there was nothing he could do. Hopefully they would catch him soon, and normality could be resumed.

"A set of directions will be printed off for each of you. Cars have been sourced that don't belong to the motor pool, and hence can't be tracked. You'll be given GPS coordinates to walk to pick up your vehicle in pairs, taking your go bags with you. The directions you will get will all be different, and won't be a direct route. It is doubtful that we'll be followed, or there will be any attempt to harm any of us while we're out in the open. I need to know who you're travelling with, and then you need to let me know when you leave. Please find me in my office within the next half hour. JJ, can I have a word?"

He left the others to talk about what had just been said, JJ following him out of the door, looking determined. He went straight to his office, closing the door once she had entered.

"Hotch," she said. "I have Henry and Will to think of – I know you have Jack, but..."

"Jack's in Montreal with Haley," Hotch said. "And this is why I wanted to speak with you. There's room for Will and Henry at the safe house, and I recommend you all head there immediately, taking Reid with you." He hadn't told her, hadn't decided yet if he should or not, that she, along with himself, were possibly the main target for the UnSub. There had to be a particular person that he was focused on, and JJ profiled as a potential target.

She nodded. "Okay. But I'm going to need a little time to get everything together."

"That's fine. You should leave now; maybe get Will to pick you and Reid up from a coffee house or cafe somewhere, but not from here, and deviate on your way to the pick-up point," he said. He opened up the briefcase he hadn't let go of yet since his meeting with Strauss and pulled out a set of directions that were handwritten, accompanied by the GPS coordinates. "JJ, you'll have time to rest and be with Henry in a place where we can guarantee your safety better than anywhere else.

"How furnished is it?" she said. "Is it suitable for a small child?" He heard the worry and concern in her tone.

Hotch nodded. "Strauss said that it's fine. The Bureau is unsure exactly how to use it yet, but it was designed for the use of high value assets should they need to go into hiding, hence the space."

"I'll call Will and make sure he can free himself up to collect us – and I'll let Reid know," she said, heading for the door.

"JJ," he said, stopping her. "I wouldn't be suggesting this if I didn't think it was necessary. Mansfield's death has shown us just how serious this UnSub is."

She gave him a weak smile before closing the door, leaving him to wait for the rest of the team to inform him of their plans.

* * *

The image of the stain stayed with her; she wasn't able to shake it from her mind. It was probably nothing, or so she kept telling herself, but something told her it wasn't.

She sat in the living room, watching a rerun of Doctor Who, waiting for John to get home from fishing. It had seemed a long afternoon, and she'd thought of calling John, and meeting him and his friend at the place where they'd gone to fish. It was cold outside, and windy, but the idea of fresh air had taken her fancy. When she'd called his cell phone it had gone straight to voicemail though. Not that she was surprised. If you were fishing, you wouldn't want your phone ringing and scaring the fish.

Martha Moore sat back in the chair and drank the coffee she'd been nursing. A key sounded in the lock, and she heard John's voice call through the house.

"I was wondering where you were," she said, standing up to go and greet him. "I've felt a bit lonely this afternoon."

"I know," he said. "I got your message when I got a signal to my phone. We've had a great day – brought you back some fish that will go well if you baked it. But if you don't want to cook it tonight, then I'll cook it on the grill tomorrow."

She smiled. "It'd be nice having you cook something for me," she said, the image of the streak of blood coming back into her mind. "There was a shirt in the laundry that had some blood on it. Did you cut yourself?"

He looked at her in surprise. "No," he said. "Oh, wait a minute – it was when I was shaving. I cut myself there," he pointed to a scab on the side of his neck "and probably wiped my hand on the shirt. I hope it comes out."

Martha nodded, satisfied with the explanation. "So," she said. "Shall we go out for dinner tonight?" It was nice to have him home, her husband.

* * *

_Hope you enjoyed the chapter – do let me know!_

_Sarah x_


	14. Chapter Thirteen

_Thank you to all who reviewed, including __**Atie**__, __**Kim**__ and (not now a) __**First Time Reviewer**__! Thaks to those readers who have reviewed for the first time recently as well. Reviews are very much appreciated at the moment._

_This will be the last of my long Criminal Minds fic, for a good six months (just clarifying that this story will be finished first!) as I want to work on some original writing and begin to approach agents. That means my head is wandering off into the next universe and I do need motivation to keep on track with writing this, so please review. I have some amazing readers who review every or most chapters and without them this story wouldn't be written (just to add at this point, I'm sat on my bed with a glass of water next to me, which one of my cats is now drinking from. Yuk!! How many times has she done that and I've not known, then drank from the water... I digress). So big thank you to them, and if you do lurk, now would be a good time to delurk and drop a review._

_Thursday's update is in doubt as I've managed to get tickets for the Brian Cox lecture at Manchester Uni. I'll therefore post Friday, then next week post Monday then Thursday._

_Thanks to __**Chiroho**__ for the beta!_

_Enjoy! _

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"I roamed the countryside searching for answers to things I did not understand. Why thunder lasts longer than that which causes it, and why immediately on its creation the lightning becomes visible to the eye while thunder requires time to travel. How?"

**- Leonardo Di Vinci**

**Chapter Twelve**

**November 5****th**

It had been decided that Rossi and Hotch would travel immediately to the safe house, leaving Prentiss and Morgan to interview the parents of Matthew Horsfield and Amber Livesy. Morgan had seen some reluctance at first to leave Emily behind; just a small glance that Morgan recognised as suppressed emotion, but it was there nonetheless. It kind of made him happy to see Hotch like that, and to know that Emily had someone there for her in that respect. They'd bonded shortly after she'd joined the BAU, and she was close to Rossi, but it was platonic. The banter and flirting they had shared had always been enjoyable, but that line had never been crossed; the chemistry wasn't there.

But now Hotch was there, and he had seen in the split second look that had been thrown between the two that neither would be truly content until Emily was at the safe house as well. Although it would be a small contentedness. Morgan glanced at her as she checked her watch. They had sent a car to pick up Mr. and Mrs. Horsfield from their house a few miles away from where Matthew had been taken. They had moved and tried to get on with their lives. Mrs. Horsfield now worked in a school, while her husband had sold his business and begun training as a college lecturer instead. Maybe they were still looking for answers to their own problems, but whatever the case, when they eventually opened the door into the room where he and Emily were waiting for them, they looked a lot healthier than Evangeline Dwyer's parents had.

Morgan stood up at the same time as Emily, offering his had immediately. Their plan was to interview them together for the first ten minutes or so, then to separate them, with Emily speaking with Mrs. Horsfield alone. They weren't recently bereaved, although Morgan didn't know when you got over the loss of a child, so they wouldn't be reliant on each other for support, and given that the letters sent seemed to point the finger at one or the other of the parents, they figured that one of the Horsfields would probably have something to hide.

"I'm Special Agent Derek Morgan and this is Special Agent Emily Prentiss. Thank you for agreeing to come here at such short notice," he said, gesturing to them to sit down. "We know this is going to be difficult for you, but we need to ask you some questions about the days leading up to Matthew's abduction."

Their faces clouded slightly, although he knew they would have been ready for this.

"Have you got a suspect?" Mrs. Horsfield said. "We've been waiting years for this..."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Horsfield," Emily said. "But we haven't yet. Though we believe that we are getting closer."

"Then another child has gone missing. Is that what's happened?" Mr. Horsfield said, an accusatory tone to his voice.

Morgan nodded. "Yes, I'm afraid that's the case. We're not sure it's linked with Matthew's case yet, which is why we need to ask you a few questions."

Both the Horsfields were silent, waiting for the storm to begin.

"In the weeks before Matthew's abduction, did Matthew play out a lot in the garden?" Emily said, asking a question, which according to the file, hadn't previously been posed.

Mrs. Horsfield looked slightly confused and glanced at her husband. "Yes, he played out a lot, even on days when the weather wasn't very good. Why?"

"Did he ever speak to passers-by, people on their way to the park for example?" Emily said, not answering the question in order to keep the parents on track.

"Yes – he was a sociable child. Very chatty. It was worrying sometimes, but he didn't speak to strangers – he knew not to do that – just to people he saw frequently. We often saw the same people when we went to the park ourselves," Mrs. Horsfield said. "One man always used to give Matthew candy; good quality candy, not some cheap stuff."

"Do you remember his name, Mrs. Horsfield?" Emily said, pressing harder for information. This was the kind of thing they were looking for, someone who had befriended the children and not caused the parents any worry. Children often picked up on their parents' apprehension, and would react against someone who their parents didn't trust.

She shook her head. "No. It was only a couple of times, and he always seemed to just have candy on him anyway. I saw his wife telling him off for it once as he must have had a sweet tooth and was putting on a bit of weight."

Morgan exchanged a brief look with Emily. They'd discussed the possibility of the UnSub having been married, or possibly still married. It would provide him with cover; he would be unsuspected, and would have a perfect rouse for settling parents' apprehensions.

"Did Matthew ever talk about having an imaginary friend in the weeks before he went missing?" Morgan said. This would be the last question before they separated the couple.

It was Mr. Horsfield this time who answered. "He did. He called him Ronnie or Johnnie – something like that. I got a bit worried about it – I know better now." His smile showed the loss he'd had, and Morgan felt a pang of pity for him.

Emily stood up. "I think we could all do with a coffee," she looked around at them all. Morgan nodded along with the couple. "Mrs. Horsfield, would you come and give me a hand? I have a tendency to spill things on occasion." She channeled her awkwardness, a blessing at times like this, and had Mrs. Horsefield smiling with her. The two women left the room, leaving Morgan with about ten minutes to find out if the Horsfields had received any suspect mail.

"Women," Mr. Horsfield said. "They're all the same. She's a pretty one, your colleague. I bet she distracts a few idiots when you're questioning them, hey?"

Morgan had a choice here. He could either play the professional and brush over Horsfield's comments, or use them to form a bond. He opted for the latter and hoped both Emily and Hotch would forgive him. "Yeah, she's got a lot more than what it takes," he said, nodding. He wondered whether the remarks were telling about Horsfield's private life.

Horsfield nodded. "Is she single?"

"Why?" Morgan said, deciding that he wasn't playing along with it this far. "You're married? Why would you ask?"

"We swing."

This was going to be easier than Morgan thought.

"My wife will probably be asking your pretty colleague the same thing about you," he said. "But that's probably given you the wrong impression. There's nothing _wrong_ with us, Agent Derek Morgan. We started swinging before Matthew was abducted; in fact we were out the night he was taken; Marissa's aunt was looking after him and she's almost deaf, which is why she never woke up. We stopped for three years after Matthew, then realised it gave us a freedom we didn't have anywhere else. It's safe, you know, and no one gets hurt. Most weekends – anyway, you want me to talk about Matthew..." he looked away, and Morgan could see the bravado that was acting as a screen to stop the real emotion flowing through.

"Before Matthew was taken, did you receive any mail that talked about what you and your wife were doing? Maybe criticising what you did?" Morgan said, cutting to the chase.

Horsfield looked up, he expression frozen. "Yes, but we never told anyone. It never mentioned Matthew, so we didn't think it was relevant. And it wasn't something we wanted people to judge us about."

"What did the letters say?"

"They would say what we had been doing that day; what time I would leave the house and who came round. They then referred to where we went some nights and what we did there – making insinuations. I thought it was some nosy neighbour who disapproved, so we didn't mention it to the police. It didn't seem connected – still doesn't." Horsfield looked at Morgan with an emotion in his expression that Morgan doubted was ever truly shown. "The other people whose kids have gone – did they get the letters too?"

Morgan nodded. "It appears so. Do you still have them?"

"No," he shook his head. "We kind of forgot about them after Matthew, and came across them again when we moved and got rid of them. I should've known to keep them."

"How would you know?" Morgan said. "It's unlikely that there's any forensic evidence on them that we could have traced anyway. But what you have told us helps to identify a pattern."

The door opened and Emily entered with Mrs. Horsfield and a tray of coffee. She shot Morgan a telling look and he gave her a swift nod in return. "I don't think we have any more questions for the moment, although we may give you a call at some point for more information, or to update you with anything we find," Morgan said, standing up. "I'll have Agent Rathmill come see you in a few minutes to arrange a ride back home. Enjoy your coffee in the meantime."

Mr. Horsfield stood up and shook Morgan's hand, then Emily's, giving her the same approving look he had done before. Morgan noticed Emily's almost off-hand stare, and wondered if she had been propositioned by his wife.

He followed her out of the room and into JJ's office. "I do not wish to speak about that interview in any terms other than that they did receive letters, and Matthew's abduction is similar to the other two." She shuddered slightly. "I really need a shower now."

Morgan stifled a laugh. "You heard anything about when the Livesys are coming in?"

Emily nodded. "They're not. Turns out they've moved to Delaware and Idaho – they split shortly after Amber's disappearance. The property in Manassas is rented out, although it's still owned by Jonathan Livesy. I've left a message for Kevin to track down current cell numbers for them both so we can get in touch if necessary."

"Then I guess we should head off to this safe house," he said. "Hotch instructed us to not hang around here any longer than we have to. Who's driving?"

"Me," she said. "I drive faster."

Morgan rolled his eyes; the safe house might be safe, but getting there might not be.

* * *

It still looked like a working farm, a tractor sitting stagnant between the barns and the main house. On closer inspection, it looked like any other farm, only one that had been carefully maintained, something a lot of farmers couldn't afford to do. The windows were new, there was no peeling paint, and the door seemed more solid than it needed to be. The single dirt road to it was lined with trees, fairytale like in their character, and the farmhouse and outbuildings were set in a clearing, with fields behind that roamed for acres.

Hotch had no idea how it had come into the property portfolio of the FBI, and knew it was something he would never find out. It didn't matter, really. It was, for however long, a beacon of safety, which only a handful of people would know about.

Rossi drove around the back, parking the Honda CRV in a garage that opened electronically. The renovations to the farm would have cost more than Hotch cared to think, but right now, he was thankful that someone had decided to spend the money that way.

All of his team would be there, including Will and Henry, and Kevin Lynch. Kevin was there for a couple of reasons; he practically lived with Garcia, and could well be on the UnSub's hit list because of their relationship; they also needed another analyst, and it was safer to have him with them than be communicating through lines that could be hacked.

Agent Boyd would be joining them, along with Agent Sylvester and Agent Deayton. Although Mansfield's team had consisted of nine members, only a few had been involved in the initial investigation into the letter and subsequent attacks, therefore Strauss and Mansfield's immediate boss, Ken Bower, had decided that only those three needed to get off the grid.

The building contained nine bedrooms in total, with three sleeping three people, four sleeping two, and two singles. It was a huge, rambling house that had had several extensions added at various times during its past, giving it a meandering feeling, with a couple of unnecessary staircases just there to confuse things. he had no idea who its previous owner was, but could assume it had been a large family with money, given the size of the extensions. The flooring and interior decoration were not in keeping with the design of the building. They had been chosen with a clientele in mind that was certainly not on a level with FBI agents, and under different circumstances Hotch would have quite enjoyed the plush surroundings. He wondered what strings Strauss and Deayton had pulled in order to arrange the use of this place, or what favours were now owed.

"It's pretty decent," Rossi said, once inside. "Better than some hotels I've stayed in. Better than some hotels _we've_ stayed in. Remember that one in San Fran?"

Hotch nodded, suppressing the memory. "Only thing with a hotel is that we can go out where we like. Here, we're almost house bound. I can't see Morgan and Reid doing well after more than a few days."

"Reid's got some Star Trek convention to attend on the thirteenth too," Rossi said. "Morgan doesn't know, but he'll probably work it out before too long."

Hotch looked up at the ceiling, not relishing the torment that would take place once Morgan found out. "We need to have whoever's doing this in a nice, small cell before then, or I'll be going stir crazy. What are your thoughts, Dave?" Hotch sat down on one of the sofas in the main lounge, his bags and briefcase left at the doorway.

Rossi chose an old rocking chair, reupholstered in material that matched the curtains, and rocked slightly, looking out of the windows. "It's someone in the bureau who's able to watch us," he said. "For whatever reason they have a grievance against us. Maybe it's something personal, or maybe it's against the team as a whole. They haven't done anything so far to make me think it's one or the other."

Hotch thought for a moment. "Why do you think they targeted you and Emily this morning?"

"I don't think it was a specific attack," Rossi said. "I think we were followed, or he discovered our whereabouts. The vehicle was a sitting duck – it would have been all too easy for him to use the bushes as cover and attach explosives underneath the car and detonate them remotely when he saw us coming. I don't think it was meant to injure us."

"Then what's his goal? He doesn't want to hurt us, but he's possibly already killed one agent." Hotch dug his fingers into the plump material of the sofa arm.

"He's building up to something. It's psychological warfare. He will be watching our reactions and hoping to see us suffer."

"It's revenge," Hotch said, sitting up. "This is revenge for something. We have done something that's made him suffer slowly, so he's wanted to put us through the same thing. Mansfield must have come close – or the UnSub thought he was close – to working out who it was that had made the threat."

"You like him for the other agent, don't you? The one in Chicago?" Rossi's eyes were focused out of the window, and Hotch knew he was plotting a mental map of the area, making sure he knew all the weak points of the place they were in.

"Possibly. I'm still waiting for the files to be sent over. And for the ballistics report on Mansfield ." He pulled out his cell as a brief vibration told him he had a message. "Emily and Morgan have left. They should be here in just over an hour."

"Good," Rossi said. "Then we can pull straws on who's cooking. Have they provided any food for us?" Rossi stood up, leaving the chair rocking violently. "Do we even know who they are?"

"Strauss said that a range of ingredients had been delivered as soon as they knew the farm was going to be occupied. If we need another delivery we have to email a list of requirements to her and she will forward it," Hotch said, following Rossi into the kitchen.

They opened a couple of cupboards, looking at the array of ingredients. There would be enough to satisfy most appetites, even Morgan's, although he was slightly concerned about the quality of the cooking.

"I might make a lasagne," Rossi said, pulling out a few things. "Nothing like a spot of cooking to focus the mind."

"I'll leave you to it," Hotch said, not sure if he was relieved or not. "I'd best check out the bedrooms and see if I can figure out some form of allocation that will keep Reid and Morgan from maiming each other."

He walked up the first set of stairs he came to; these were a small spiral, the plastering coarse instead of smooth. They led up to an area of the second floor that was one of the oldest parts of the house; the windows were smaller, and even with the recent renovations, it had an eerie atmosphere, probably given by the low ceilings and visible wooden beams.

The bedroom doors were all unlocked, not needing keys, and the doors were open, letting the air circulate. A faint smell of fresh paint still lingered, reinforcing the fact that they were the first set of people to use these premises since it had been refurbished. The first bedroom he found contained a double bed, although the space around it was minimal. There were built-in wardrobes and drawers which made the best of the space and a small en-suite with a walk in shower.

He had a dilemma. It would make sense for him and Emily to take one of the three doubles, with JJ and Garcia having the other two. Or there was the option of giving Emily the double and him taking a single, which would leave either two of Boyd's men or Morgan and Reid to share. Still considering it, he left the room and checked out the others, mentally allocating them, and coming to a decision. Everyone who was at the safe house was aware of their relationship, and for them to sleep separately would seem odd, as if they were trying to hide something. If Emily was happy with it, they would take the smallest double room.

There were three rooms on the second floor designed as study or recreation areas. Two were lined with shelves filled with hardcover books; the third was smaller with a desk and the necessary wires and outlets for a computer with internet access. A tiffany style lamp was on a small mahogany table in the corner, lending a peaceful atmosphere with few distractions.

Hotch looked out of the window, admiring the view back along the almost-road they had driven down. It was hardly visible through the trees that hadn't yet lost all of their leaves, and for a moment, this could have been a holiday home, a retreat from chaos and exhaustion. But it wasn't, and that was why no one would be able to see him right now, if they chose to look up at the window. The windows had all been tinted; there would be no clear shot available to anyone standing outside.

He felt more reassured than he had done a few hours previously, knowing the precautions that had taken place to get them here safely. He also knew that their UnSub would have figured that something unusual was now happening, and was likely to begin to feel frustrated. As far as he was concerned, they had moved off the grid, and he wouldn't be able to track them electronically, or in person.

But Hotch knew they couldn't protect everyone. Their lack of presence put others at risk. He wouldn't want them to think that he had stopped just because they weren't there. He would try to find other ways to punish them, until eventually they had their showdown. And that was what he was aiming for: a captive audience who had to listen, and then pay for the injustice they had caused.

The next few days would be spent looking through specific members of the bureau that had already been narrowed down and considering whether they presented a risk. It would be tedious job, and at the end of it, might not even lead them to whoever was behind the attacks and threats, but it was something to do. There would also be time to look at the reports on Mansfield's murder and see if they led anywhere.

Hotch left the room, wanting to bring up his bags and leave them in the rooms that he had designated for himself. It wouldn't be long before Garcia and Kevin arrived, they being the first to leave, and he wanted to be have organised himself by then, ready to take on what the evening brought.

* * *

P_lease review!_

_Sarah x_


	15. Chapter Fourteen

_Thank you for the review, and to __**Atie**__, __**notafirsttimereviewer**__ and __**Kim **__as well! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter!_

_The next chapter will be posted Monday, and at this point, I'd really, really like to thank my beta __**Chiroho.**__ (Since he hasn't had the next chapter sent yet, he'll know why I'm creeping!)_

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"The personal life deeply lived always expands into truths beyond itself."

**- Anais Nin**

**Chapter Fourteen**

**November 5****th****/6****th**

Rossi's lasagnes, he'd made two that were now cooking happily in the oven, should have been creating a warm, comforting atmosphere. He'd used a tried and tested recipe that included alcohol you wouldn't find in a restaurant version, and the smell, as he'd voiced loudly, should have been bottled and sold.

It wasn't, however, creating such an atmosphere. Everyone seemed a little too fractious, maybe due to hunger, maybe through the fragmented and hectic day, but whatever the cause there was more bickering than normal.

Emily sat on the same sofa Hotch had been sitting on earlier, glaring at Reid who had been at his most irritating since getting there. JJ and Will had taken Henry to the room that had been allocated to them by Hotch, the largest of the three, leaving Reid in Emily's care after what had seemingly been a fraught journey. Agent Mansfield's death had not yet sunk in, its ramifications only just rubbing on the psyche of the team after a day that had been unprecedented. Emily could see that Reid was struggling to deal with aspects of what had happened, devolving instead into a babbling fountain of useless information, and clearly agitating for an argument.

"Spence," she said, trying to break into his monologue for the third time. "Why don't you go unpack, check your room out, and grab a little downtime?" She didn't go for subtlety - there was no point with Reid.

Reid fell silent, looking at her with some disdain. "Morgan suggested the same thing..."

"We need time to get our heads around this," she said. "Things have happened very quickly today, and we're going to be spending a lot of time here. Together." She emphasized the final word.

Reid stood up. "I guess I should unpack. I'd like to look over some of the files we have on potential suspects after dinner, and that smells like it won't be too long. Did you..."

"Spence – go," she said quietly, standing up herself. "We all need some time to ourselves." Another wave of exhaustion was hitting her, and she knew she needed to grab some sleep, even if it was just thirty minutes before dinner. The evening was not going to bring respite; they'd want to focus on both cases, ready to formalise a profile now they had more information.

He sighed, avoiding eye contact as he was want to do when struggling with the thoughts in his head and how to verbalise them. "This didn't seem real until we left to come here. It seemed like another case. But now, this place, being in what feels like the middle of nowhere, highlights the situation we're in, and suddenly I keep thinking about what would happen if one of us was attacked and seriously hurt or worse."

She sat back down again, giving an internal sigh. They had all at some point, thought about the same thing; a worst case scenario where one of the team was hurt, but it wasn't advisable to dwell on such a thing, it could induce paranoia which could end up making it worse. "We've been in situations before when one of us has been on the receiving end of something bad," she said. "But we've always got through it. What you've got to think about, Reid, is how we can stop this UnSub before he gets to us, and you've got to think of where we are – he won't be able to track us down here. We're basically in witness protection with bells on."

"I know, it's just..." he thought pensively. "It's just the toll this is taking. We haven't been at home properly in what seems like weeks. I'd just like some semblance of normalcy for a few days; some time to do what I normally do, without Morgan breathing down my neck or trying to get me to admit to doing something." He stopped, seeming shocked at his rant. "I'm sorry, Emily, I shouldn't be venting this at you. You have the same thing to deal with yourself."

Emily shook her head. "Spencer, it's fine. And you may feel like you have to do that again over the next few days, get a few things off your chest. It's not going to be plain sailing being here."

"Have you thought that this might be for more than just a few days? If the UnSub can't get hold of us, or track what we're doing, then he may just go to ground," Reid sounded panicked now. "We could be here for weeks."

"I don't think so," she said. "We still have the other case to pursue. Alfie Fletcher is still missing – we won't be able to stay here all the time, nor are we expected to. And if it looks like our UnSub's going quiet, then I'm sure we'll try to lure him out."

Reid looked unconvinced. He began to walk to the stairs, his expression showing his preoccupation. Emily wondered whether she had said the right thing, or whether she should have directed him to Hotch or Rossi. She stood up again, and made her way through the adjoining rooms to the kitchen, where she could hear Dave singing along to some big band number that he had on the radio.

She paused at the doorway for a moment, watching him mix butter with garlic, then spread it on thickly sliced scali bread. The aroma made her mouth water and she glanced at the clock to see what time it was – Rossi had promised dinner at seven.

"Spying on the cook won't make him work any faster, you know."

She laughed quietly, entering the kitchen properly now. "Have you managed to conjure up a dessert?"

"Zabaglione, with a twist as there was no dessert wine and nothing that resembled lady fingers."

"So it's not really zabaglione then, is it?" Emily said. "What's your take on what's going to happen?"

Rossi shot her a look that made her raise her eyebrows. "Do you and Hotch think I have a crystal ball or something? I don't know," he said, then sighed. "I think we'll get him before too long. He'll either go quiet now he can't see us, or it'll make him find other ways to try to scare us, and I suspect the latter."

"You'll think he'll work out where we all are?" she said, peering into the over where two lasagnes were finishing browning. "As in, we've been moved into a safe house?"

Rossi shrugged. "You can turn the oven off while you're looking. He'll know we've been moved. He's already proved that he's not stupid, but there's no way he should be able to locate us. This place isn't even on the Bureau's books, and there's no computer trail to it because that would defeat the object of it."

"But we're still going to have to leave here to carry on with the Alfie Fletcher case. He may well be able to track us down then," she said. "Although, he'll find it hard to predict our moves."

Rossi opened the second, small oven and turned it onto the broil setting, pushing a pan with all the garlic bread slices under it. "We're just going to have to do what we do best, and work out who it is."

"You been through something like this before?" she said, querying Dave's confidence.

"Almost. It was a good few years ago, and I had a stalker whose behaviour was becoming so unstable I had to stay at a friend's house for a couple of weeks so she couldn't work out where I'd gone. It was resolved in the end – just like this will be." There was something in his words that she couldn't quite believe, and she wished he would stop trying to be reassuring and just be realistic instead.

"You want me to go get everyone for dinner?" she said, her eyes meeting his and she knew he was aware of her lack of confidence in his words.

He nodded. "Yeah. By the time everyone's been separated from their files and laptops it should be pretty much done."

She gave him a quick smile and left the room, anxiety starting to gnaw away.

* * *

Morgan had to admit that Rossi was a good cook; the lasagne tasted as good as it had smelled and there wasn't a scraping left. They'd eaten together, although he doubted that it would be a regular occurrence. Three big cases in a matter of weeks meant that they'd already spent more than enough time in each other's pockets, and sharing meal times would be pushing it a bit too far. As a rule, time away together was easy to deal with; everyone got along; there was no antagonism, nothing that was intentional, anyway. But they needed their personal space, and that was now extremely limited, even in a house as big as where they were now.

"We should go through where we are with both cases," Hotch said, an empty plate in front of him. "I know Dave has made something for dessert too, but if his main course is anything to go by, I'll need to lie down and rest after eating it, so we should talk now."

A nod of agreement went round the table like a Mexican wave.

"Let's start with the Alfie Fletcher case," Hotch said, casting a look at Morgan. "What are your ideas so far?"

"All of the families live near parks. They share several things in common; they're affluent; live on roads which are used to reach the parks by both motorists and pedestrians; three out of four have received correspondence from an anonymous writer in the months preceding the abduction that never mentioned the child at all, but recounted the adults' movements, including mentioning affairs. Two families reported clothing going missing, but that seemed to be accounted for," Morgan said. He glanced at Prentiss who was picking her nails nervously.

"There was something else that came up. All three children – Alfie Fletcher, Matthew Horsfield and Evangeline Dwyer – reportedly had a make believe friend named Ronnie or Johnnie," Emily said. They'd figured it out in the car driving to the safe house, going over nuggets of information from each of the three sets of parents, Emily cross referencing Rossi's notes as Morgan drove. "It seems too much to be a coincidence. We appear to have a man or a woman who has befriended these children as they either passes by their houses, sees them in the park, or both. This likely accounts for why no noise is heard when the children are taken – they trust him."

"We're looking for someone older, between forty and fifty five, who has the patience to plan and build a relationship, and who probably has cover in the form of a partner. They're likely to be physically fit and socially adept, keeping themselves well exercised through walking," Morgan said, his finger tapping silently against the side of a glass. "We cannot specify a gender, although this may well be the work of a predatory paedophile and is more likely, therefore, to be male. The abductions have all taken place on different nights, giving no hints as to a pattern of work. They may well work nine to five, or shifts, but what we do know is that they have the time to watch the family and make observations about them." He glanced at Emily.

"The two bodies that have been found so far give no clue as to the cause of death, but do suggest that they were killed around two weeks after being abducted, and then dumped immediately. The killer knows what he is doing, is intelligent, and is well organised," she said.

They both looked between Rossi and Hotch.

"If we look at the victimology," Hotch said. "What comparisons can we see?"

"The children are from a similar background, social class and area. They could certainly be classed as privileged," Reid said, leaning forward. "They're all around three years old, but different genders and physical features, and that's what bothers me. Even if a paedophile wasn't gender specific, and three years old is about the upper limit for that, studies have shown they would still have a preference for looks; blonde hair, blue eyes; brown hair, green eyes – these four children don't bear any resemblance to each other, suggesting he doesn't have a type."

"That's not unknown, Reid," Morgan said. "And it may be that it's not the way they look that draws him to them. It may be their upbringing that he finds attractive, or simply the way they present themselves. He could see himself as their saviour, someone to show them the real world, and after he has built up a relationship with them, he perceives them as being in love with him."

"But we're no clearer to gaining a more thorough understanding as we don't yet have enough information," Hotch said. "The list of names and descriptions you got from Alfie's nanny – can we ask the Dwyers and the Horsfield's to do the same? I know it's a long time ago, but we may be able to get a matching description. It may also be worthwhile canvassing the park where Alfie was taken regularly. See if anyone there recalled someone paying special interest in him."

"What I don't get," Morgan said. "Is the gap between the body being dumped and the next child being taken. What does he do between times? There must be something else to keep his interest."

"That's the worry; there may be children he has access to and that's enough until he meets 'the one', who he pays special interest in," Rossi said. "We should look at the local schools and kindergartens for any reports of inappropriate interest being taken in the children there, particularly ones that have been withdrawn."

Morgan saw Reid look at Rossi questioningly. "If they were withdrawn," he said. "It means that someone may have persuaded them that they were overreacting, or they thought they had taken something the wrong way."

"As a parent," JJ said. "You don't want to think that you have done anything, however inadvertently, to put your child in danger, so sometimes you persuade yourself that everything is okay even if your instincts tell you it's not. Quite often, you can react first, then think you've overreacted."

Reid nodded. "I guess there's quite a lot of avenues we can be pursuing."

"We'll contact the Dwyers and the Horsfields in the morning and have them picked up and taken to a meeting room in Lees Town," Hotch said. "That's about a half hour's drive from here. Agents Manning and Evans will canvas the park, and I'll see who else can be spared."

"Could I not go?" Reid said. Morgan looked at him closely. "It's unlikely _our_ UnSub will think of looking for me there."

Hotch raised his eyebrows and glanced at the table. "I would like you to continue looking into possible suspects for 'our UnSub', as you put it, but I don't see why you shouldn't do that in the morning. Prentiss and Morgan can switch places with you in the afternoon."

"Then I'll go with Reid in the morning," Rossi said. "I wouldn't mind some fresh air, if that's okay."

Hotch nodded. "JJ and I can start sifting through the files on the agents who fit our profile so far. To recap, we think it's a male, between the ages of 30 and 50, who has worked for the Bureau for some time. He has expert knowledge of explosives, and, from the post-mortem report on Agent Mansfield, he is a good shot as well. He is most likely single, or may have suffered a break up that could have been the stresser for his recent behaviour. He is intelligent, but perceives himself to be more intelligent than he actually is. For some reason, he bears a grudge against the team, and is seeking revenge. He is mission orientated, and will not stop until he has completed his agenda."

"We're talking half the Bureau there, Hotch," Morgan said. "Is there nothing further to narrow down the perimeters?"

Garcia nodded. "We've covered that, Derek, through looking at people who are based currently at Quantico, and have undergone training on explosives."

"We can narrow it down by job type also," Emily said. "Whoever it is can't be a current field agent. They need a job that is more flexible. If they were tracking our movements yesterday, they knew when we were taking out one of the pool cars and followed us, possibly through the car's GPS system. That's not someone who has appointments or is out on a case. We should also look at agents who have recently been on sick or compassionate leave and have had the time to plan this, and study us."

"We could be missing the boat completely, and it may not be an agent, although I agree it profiles that way," Morgan said, sitting back in his chair. He was trying to push the situation in Utah out of his mind, knowing he couldn't afford to deal with that right now. "Organised, slightly ruthless, Machiavellian personality type, skilled with technology and weapons – we can assume that – and has the inside knowledge on us as well. Plus he passed on his letter to someone who works here – he knew who the canteen assistant was."

"We need to look at all options, I agree with you Morgan, but like you said, the profile suggests another agent. This is someone we know, someone we have passed on the corridors or shared an elevator with," Hotch said. Morgan say him glance around the table. "We are considering whether this could be a stalker. After looking at us individually, not all of us would be an ideal target."

"I wouldn't," Emily said. "I'm too much of a nerd. I've had the occasional suitor who won't go away, but it's never lasted long. I don't think my behaviour can be misinterpreted, although with a stalker, they will often interpret behaviour to how they want to see it."

Morgan looked at the table, not wanting his colleagues to know how he was analysing them. He listened to what was being said around him as they each speculated on their potential to be stalked. "It's Hotch or JJ," he announced when a speck of silence fell. "They would be perfect targets because both have slightly introverted characters, and are easier to misinterpret than say Prentiss or I. Hotch has a position of authority, while JJ is the face of the BAU. I know we're looking at someone who very likely knows us better than that, but if this is someone who passes us in the corridor occasionally then they might not know that much more about us than what they can research – they just have added resources."

"Thanks, Derek," JJ said, giving him a sideways glance down the table. "That really helps make me feel reassured, you know?"

He chuckled. "You want me to take up some of those files and go though them?" Morgan said. He had seen the pile that had been brought over by Kevin and Garcia, and knew that more had been added to it since Garcia had set up her computers.

Hotch shook his head. "Not at the moment. We need to understand that we are safe for tonight, and the next few nights, until we have caught him. The fewer people who read the files the better, although when the pool has been narrowed down, we'll go through them together. We're hoping that the UnSub tries to get in touch with one of us or Agent Boyd's team soon. It's doubtful that he won't make contact. All emails are being monitored, so we will see what arises." Hotch glanced at his watch. "I think it's time to sample the last of Dave's cooking." Morgan saw a look pass between the two men that suggested Hotch wanted this wound up. There may be more to discuss, but Hotch didn't want to, or wasn't in the position to share.

Morgan put the look out of his mind, and decided that for the next half hour he was going to push aside all thoughts of the case and concentrate in something else instead. Before he went back to his room and researched the evil that some men do.

* * *

Emily was reading in bed when he opened the door to the room she had agreed to share with him. Hotch had spent the last two hours in discussion with Agent Boyd and Agent McAllister, the latter via a conference call, going through what had been discovered by forensics from Mansfield's apartment. There were no fingerprints, bar one, a most unusual finger print to have found, and questions would be asked by McAllister in the morning.

"Hey," Emily said as he sat down on the bed. She put her book down and sat up. He caught the title and saw that she was reading one of Rossi's. He suppressed a smile. "I thought you might have been longer than this."

Hotch undid his shoes and pulled off his socks, aiming them in a ball towards the laundry basket that was in the corner of the room. "I think Boyd's at his limit for one day," he said. "And there's only so much of McAllister that anyone can take."

She nodded, picking up the glass of water next to her and sipping from it. "How is Boyd?"

"He's doing what any of us would do; holding himself together until we catch this guy and then he'll probably collapse," he said, undoing his shirt buttons. He could feel Emily's eyes on him and he wondered what she was thinking. He turned around, stretching up the bed towards her. "You're still fine with us sharing a room? There's a single still free - I can take that."

She shook her head. "I'm fine, Aaron. Just tired, like the rest of us." She lifted a hand and brushed her fingers through his hair. It was a gentle touch, a comforting one and it seemed to pass on a calmness he hadn't been feeling for some time. He took her hand in his and brushed his lips against her fingers in a soft gesture than made her face break into laughter.

"What's so funny?" he said, sitting up and taking off his shirt.

She shook her head. "You... me... this, I guess. You know, how different we both are."

"Are we?" he said, not convinced.

"In some respects, yes. I think after I speak a lot of the time, while every word you use has been thought about before you lips even open – typical extrovert and introvert examples. I didn't even think when I touched your hair, yet I know you would have made a distinct decision to take my hand," her eyes softened.

He had made that choice, a conscious one, although it had been made quickly. She wasn't used to receiving such gestures, even though she would give them. Hotch rested his head back against the pillow, turning to look at her, but keeping his hands to himself. He could ask her questions, ones that would tell him more about her personality, allowing him to analyse her further. But now wasn't the time; instead they needed to simply let the other be. "I did make a decision," he said. "And that's why you shouldn't doubt that being here isn't what I want."

She nodded. "I didn't doubt it, Aaron," she said. "But however impulsive I can be, it doesn't mean that I haven't reconsidered my actions over and over again. If I didn't want to be here, or you to be here, I would have said so by now."

A small smile escaped his lips.

She switched off her bedside lamp, leaving his as the only light in the room. "Now hurry up and get changed. Then you can get in bed," she said. "And I had thought about that carefully, so you'd better not disappoint me by being slow."

He did laugh this time, quietly, so as not to disturb Morgan who was in the next room. "And that, Agent Prentiss, is something I'd rather not do."

* * *

_Please review!_

_In answer to Kim's question, I write crime fiction, hence deciding to write Criminal Minds fanfiction. I wanted to practise balancing plot with character, and hopefully, over the course of these three fics, I've got that balance right._

_This story is likely to be fairly longish. I think we're looking between thirty and forty chapters. The chapters aren't as long as usual, mainly because I don't have as much time at the moment (I teach and we're approaching exam season) and I still want to post regularly. The pace of this story is different too, so sometimes it's more appropriate to have a shorted chapter – you kind of know when to end it._

_Hope you're enjoying! Please do drop a line and review!_


	16. Chapter Fifteen

_Thank you for the reviews; they are much appreciated and I'm sending virtual cookies to those who reviewed the last chapter as I haven't done replies yet! I may get time to do them later, if I stop feeling under the weather._

_I was asked by RainyDaysandBlueJays why the November 11__th__/12__th__ sections have stopped – if I continued with them, I'd spoil the ending! If I had the option to edit the story as a whole, I'd put those entries every other chapter, but as it's already posted I can't!_

_Hope you enjoy this; I'll post the next chapter on Thursday, then Sunday, then Tuesday. You will notice that this chapter is a little shorter than usual, and I apologise for that. There are two reasons: time, and it ended at the right place. However, shorter chapters mean the story will be longer, and if I get enough time (and reviews, hint hint), I may post more regularly._

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"Moonlight is sculpture."

**- Nathaniel Hawthorne**

**Chapter Fifteen**

**November 6****th**

Night time has many sounds the day doesn't own: an owl's call, the scuffle of a mouse, the creak of a house as it settles in the stillness. They can be soothing or unnerving, depending on the disposition or mood of the listener. In a strange place, the sounds are amplified, every creak unusual, every utterance echoed by a pounding of the heart.

A dark, starless sky was hidden by thick curtains, the material heavy and dense. They were the same in every room; blocking out the light that would come from dawn, the light that could come from headlights or the beam of a flashlight, and stopping any sign of life from being seen from outside during the hours of darkness. They also insulated the rooms, keeping in heat, stopping the old building from becoming too cold, too soulless.

Garcia had managed to get to sleep much more readily than she'd thought. She'd imagined herself staying awake all night, her mind running through the things she could do to keep her team, her friends, safe. But instead, some night time remedy of Hotch's had acted like a lullaby, and she'd fallen asleep before Kevin had even turned off the light.

It had been a long day; one which had made her hold her breath and recoil on numerous occasions, and one that had seemed like a waking bad dream. However, they were all safe, out in the middle of nowhere, in a house that didn't exist except on old maps.

She dreamed of nothing in particular; a myriad of recent memories and old recollections playing like a digital photo frame set to randomly display images. None of it was remarkable, none of it telling, and Garcia slept soundly, oblivious to the noises that were stopping Emily from falling asleep properly, and Henry from settling. Had she been able to comment as she slept, she would have been surprised by herself and her slumber; and by how her colleagues and friends spent their night hours.

She would have seen Morgan, waking up from a bad dream and stumbling sleepily to the window, pulling open the curtains. He saw the trees around them, barely lit by a black night, not a flicker of light to illuminate their surrounding area. He remained there for ten, fifteen minutes, his eyes becoming accustomed to the lack of light, noticing the signs of nocturnal life. His expression lacked his usual drive, looking more like the Morgan that had surfaced in Utah, the Morgan who Garcia had only been told snippets about. Something was still missing, a search still underway to find something to fill the emptiness that was there. He closed the curtains, slipping back into the smooth sheets, and fell back to sleep, his arms stretched across the width of the bed.

She would have seen Reid, still awake and online, winding down by playing chess with a woman in Belgium called Hanne. The light from the screen cast shadows in the room that he was already accustomed to; its anonymity, like Hanne's, reassuring with its lack of demands. She was a competent chess player, and Reid had found that she wasn't as easy to defeat as he'd predicted. But within a few more moves he'd called checkmate, and she'd signed off; their acquaintance brief but pleasurable, for him at least. He'd changed into the clothes he typically wore to bed, having already carried out his evening ablutions before retiring to his computer. Five hours sleep would be enough to function on the next day, he'd managed on less. But as he closed his eyes all he could focus on were the sounds of the house; the shifting of the heating pipes that ran through the place like veins, the creaking of an odd floorboard as something trod upon it, and the sound of silence that had its own echo. He felt more alert than ever.

And that was how he stayed; eyes closed, waiting for the sandman to come along and do his job, sprinkling those dreams and spreading sleep. But he stayed away from Reid, even as he counted chess moves.

Will and JJ lay quietly in bed, facing each other without touching, Henry between them having eventually fallen asleep. Their conversation was whispered, muted, assuming that everyone else was no longer awake. JJ's eyes were dry, their rims reddened with acute tiredness, something Will had noticed but not commented on. They were safe, that was what mattered, and Hotch had relieved her of a lot of the usual pressure.

Will reached over, certain he wouldn't wake his son, and lay a hand on JJ's waist, her eyes almost closed, and he watched her fall asleep, still mid sentence, and hoped her dreams were sweet enough to neutralise the sourness of the day. Garcia would have smiled if she had seen them, her heart content, the picture they created giving her strength.

She would have also drawn comfort from Rossi, propped almost upright against his pillows, his hand on his cell phone from a call to Jolene, and his mouth slightly agape as sleep stole him away, a soft snore breaking the silence in his room. In this state, there was no reason to regard him as someone to call 'sir'; he was just a man, like any other. Rossi had left the curtains open slightly, the sky casting no light into the room. They were in an area that could have been anywhere, not even the stars would give them away.

Garcia's final two colleagues were together, one asleep and one still awake, watching the figures on a digital clock slowly change. Time is a constant, ever changing measure, yet in the middle of the night, when sleep is an evasive ghost, each second seems to last a minute longer, lingering in the darkness.

The sheets were tangled around them, a blanket thrown to the floor. Emily's eyes were wide open, staring at the vague outlines of the furniture. It was rare this happened, that she couldn't drift off into sleep, and she found it frustrating, which only made the situation worse. Garcia knew that Emily was used to winning battles, and had she seen her, forcing herself to keep still so as not to wake Hotch, she would have seen a side to her not usually revealed.

Eventually, Emily got out of bed, holding the sheets down at the side so they didn't let a draft in upon her exit and disturb Hotch, and slipped out of the bedroom to head downstairs. The house was still, its daytime rhythm subdued now as most of its occupants slept. She made her way to the kitchen, her eyes accustomed to the dark, and opened to fridge. When she was at home, she would often wake for a midnight snack, a habit developed as a teenager when she had stuck to a rigid diet all day and gone to bed hungry.

The fridge had been well stocked by someone they would probably never meet, and Emily found a set of black cherry yoghurts. She pulled one out, then rummaged in a drawer for a spoon, finally sitting down at the wooden breakfast bar.

"Do you often do this?" a voice came out of the darkness. She wasn't startled; she'd been aware that someone was lurking.

"Sometimes," she said. "Couldn't sleep."

Agent Boyd's nod was just about visible. "Me neither," he said. "I guess yesterday was a bit of a shock."

"You'd worked with Mansfield for some time," Emily said, the yoghurt cup still unopened. "Anything like that is never easy to deal with."

Boyd shrugged. "I'm not even going to try to deal with it until we've caught whoever did it. Anyway, I'm just going to get some water then try to get some sleep."

He was a grey blur in the kitchen, the lack of light stopping his pained expression from being visible. Emily heard his soft footfalls disappear up the stairs, their sound joining in the quiet cacophony of noises the house seemed to produce.

Boyd didn't try to go to sleep. Instead, he switched on his computer and continued to look through the databases he had been given access to, looking at the details of agents he knew from reputation were unsteady, dangerous. There were psych evaluations, all usually confidential, but now opened up to Agent Hotchner and therefore him.

He found the one he was looking for, James Smithson, and opened it, reading through the reasons he'd been allowed back to work after all the equipment necessary to make a bomb had been found in his garden shed.

Garcia was oblivious to this, sleeping soundly. She didn't hear Emily's footsteps as she passed her room, or the loud snore that woke Rossi from his own sleep. She didn't hear the rumbling of the central heating as it fired up, maintaining a comfortable temperature on a cold night, and she didn't hear an owl hooting from the tree outside.

Garcia was oblivious to everything, until Garcia's phone, whose number nobody had except the team and Boyd, rang at five minutes past three, shattering her dreams and her ideas of safety, as well as the relative peace of the night.

* * *

"You didn't think to mention this sooner?" Rossi's tone of voice made both Morgan and Kevin turn towards him. "Someone strange calls your helpline, and you don't think to say anything? I thought we'd gotten over this confidentiality crap after you were shot?"

"Dave," Hotch said, his tone insistent but quiet. "This isn't helping. Garcia, what did he say the night he called the helpline?"

Her voice was wavering; she sounded panicked. "He said he wanted to talk to me, wanted to know if I was okay, and then he asked why I wasn't having a Halloween party like last year. That was when I terminated the call."

"Did you tell anyone about it?" Hotch said, sitting down on a chair opposite Garcia.

She shook her hair. "No, sir. I meant to contact Agent Mansfield, but he was on vacation – oh!"

"What is it, Penelope?" Morgan said. "Anything you can remember can help."

"He said he was doing something that evening that would help him get over his grief. Halloween – that would be the night Agent Mansfield was..." She looked around to Agent Boyd, wide-eyed.

"You weren't to know, Garcia," Hotch said. "There was nothing you could have done. We couldn't have identified him from that phone call, and we wouldn't have assumed he was going to go after Mansfield."

"But what it does tell us is that it's someone who knew what we did last Halloween," Emily said, her face bare of make-up. "This is someone who has been watching us for the past year, at least."

"Probably longer," Hotch said. "An interest in us would have developed earlier than that." He looked at Garcia. "Can you take us through what he said just now?"

Garcia nodded, clearly anxious to please. "He called me Penny, which is the name I use at the helpline. Then he asked how we all were. I just asked him what he wanted, I didn't want to give anything away or confirm that we were together. Then he said he was still watching and hung up. He didn't sound worried or annoyed; I think he even laughed at the end."

"How the hell did he get her phone number?" Morgan said, pulling a chair from the breakfast bar towards the living room at the end of the kitchen where they had congregated.

There was a cloud of silence for a moment, a few looks were exchanged.

"He had already predicted what would happen with our phones. That we would get new handsets and numbers," Emily said. "He's one step ahead. Are we certain that he can't follow what we're doing on line?"

Kevin nodded emphatically. "For him to remotely access our laptops would take him at least seven days of constant hacking. He couldn't have done it this quickly. The computers we have now are brand new, right out of the box, and couldn't have been tampered with in any way."

"He could have been monitoring the reserve mobile numbers we have," Boyd said, his words said in a monotone that would have told of his current state of mind if anyone had been listening close enough at that moment.

They weren't though, thoughts consumed by what had just happened.

"There's a list that we take numbers from for people going into witness protection. Chances are, he's been watching for activity on that list and calling the numbers when they become active. It could have been any one of us he contacted," Boyd said. "I'll take Jacob with me and head over to Keith Fielding's place. We'll sort something out by way of new phones." Boyd stood, Agent Rose already near the door.

Hotch nodded. "Before you go – Garcia, how long did the call last?"

"Twenty four seconds," she said. "Not long enough for us to track his location even if we have been set up for that, so not long enough for him to find ours. I turned the phone off as soon as he terminated the call."

"Then our location is still secure," Rossi said, now seeming slightly calmer. "Although I don't feel happy about going back to sleep just yet."

"Why don't we take one hour shifts for the rest of the night?" Will said, his soft southern accent soothing. "I'll go first. Folks are more likely to sleep if they know someone's looking out."

Hotch nodded. "I'll stay with you. I've had a good few hours, and what's happened tonight needs to be logged. There are a few things I can look for immediately now this has happened."

Emily stood up. "I haven't slept at all," she said. "I'm going to go see if I can get a few hours before we have to be up."

"I think everyone should do the same," Hotch said. "Agent Boyd, keep me informed via email, unless you think it's too risky to do that. Otherwise, we'll continue our investigation into Alfie Fletcher's disappearance as we discussed yesterday. Those details shouldn't have been discovered."

The room began to empty, most people going via the fridge for juice or milk, leaving Hotch and Will alone in the room.

Hotch looked out of the window, taking in what features he could see in the blackness outside. "This place seemed safe yesterday," he said. "Now I'm not sure."

"But what else is there that we can do?" Will said. "The other option would have been to have everyone separate, but then you leave yourself more vulnerable because of the increased reliance you'd have on phones and such. And this place is well monitored."

"You noticed them?"

Will nodded. "The perimeter is secured with video cameras. When anyone approaches, it's logged. I guess there's a room somewhere round here where we can check it ourselves as well."

Hotch closed the curtains. "There's probably a lot about this place we'll never know," he said, before leaving Will alone as he went to gather the files and his computer.

The longest and darkest hours of night are those just before the dawn, when nothing stirs, and any noise or movement appears unnatural. Will picked up a magazine Agent Boyd had left in the kitchen on cars and began to flick through the pages, the sounds of the paper and Hotch's footfalls resonating through the house like a poltergeist.

* * *

He knew she wouldn't remain on the phone for very long, and that was why he was extra pleased it had been Penelope Garcia he'd contacted first. By now, he was sure, all of their cell phones would be switched off, the SIM cards removed, and they would be reliant on communicating via email for the next few hours at least.

There was unfortunately no possibility of breaking into the new systems that had been set up; it had taken at least three weeks to access all the email accounts of the team, and then he'd had physical access to the machines as well. That wouldn't happen now; he had no idea of where they were. Not that it mattered.

They would come to him.

He sat in his living room, the TV on mute, and looked at the empty shelves. When his wife had left, she'd taken all the books and the ornaments, leaving just the things they'd bought together. She'd also taken the photographs, not for sentimental value; he knew that. It was because she hadn't wanted him to have any pictures of her.

She'd been ideal; long blond hair that was thick and healthy, a face that was almost pretty, and a slim, toned figure that drew looks from men whenever she went out. At first, she'd ignored his obsession and he'd played it down, but after living together for two years, it had become a problem, for her anyway, and gradually she'd had enough.

He told everyone at work that Joely had left him for another man, and nobody had doubted what he said. Some of his colleagues had been a little shocked anyway when they had first met her. He knew they'd wondered why she was with someone who looked like him, was quiet and work driven, when she was attractive and outgoing.

But he'd treated her well and been attentive, something her other lovers hadn't seemed to do, and for a while it had worked, although he'd never been happy.

He guessed he could never be happy. Not until he had her, the other one. The original one.

His butterfly.

* * *

**Please review!**

**Sarah x**


	17. Chapter Sixteen

_Thank you for the reviews. This story is currently averaging less reviews per chapter than Humanity did, which does concern me, so every review is very gratefully read!_

_Thank you to __**Chiroho**__ for betaing the last two (and all!) chapters. He has a rather jolly one shot focusing on Hotch and Prentiss that is definitely worth a read!_

_Next update will be Sunday, then Tuesday and Thursday as usual._

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"Expect the best, plan for the worst, and prepare to be surprised.**"**

**- Denis Waitley**

**Chapter Sixteen**

**November 6****th**

Martha Moore heard the sound of church bells ringing in the distance and gave a soft smile as she applied her lipstick. It had always seemed a bit of a contradiction, putting lipstick on to go to church; almost a sin in some ways because going there shouldn't make you concerned about how you looked. However, Martha justified the make-up by saying she wanted to look her best when going inside God's house, a statement which made John laugh.

He laughed as he saw her check her reflection in the mirror. He was sitting at the breakfast bar, eating a bowl of cereal. When she returned, she would cook them a full Sunday breakfast; pancakes, waffles, French toast – the works. It would see them right through till the fish he was going to cook for them that evening.

"I swear you only go to that place for the gossip," he said, smiling up at her. "You just want to find out what new outfit Belinda Carr's wearing, and if Sherry Baker's left her husband yet."

"That's not entirely true," she said, knowing it was something she was looking forward to finding out. "I never miss church, and you know I go for the right reasons."

He nodded, putting his spoon down. "Are you going to walk?"

"It's a lovely day," she said. "I know it's cold, but it's one of those days it'd be a shame to miss by sitting in a car. I'll be back about noon, maybe a little later if I stay for a coffee in the church hall. I'll cook breakfast then."

He shook his head. "No need. Phone me when you're leaving and I'll have it ready for you. You haven't had anything yet this morning, so you'll be hungry when you get back. Take an apple to eat on the way." He passed her the largest apple in the bowl and stood up, picking up his crockery. "I'll give the kitchen a good clean while you're out too."

"Thank you," Martha said, the warm feeling inside that she was becoming used to starting to glow again. She still wasn't sure how she had become this lucky. "Have a nice morning." She leant over and kissed his cheek, finding it smooth as if he had just shaved.

She left the house and walked briskly down the road towards Dorothy Martin's house. Dorothy was in her eighties and as frail as china, with a mind that wasn't frail at all. She had home help in twice daily, but struggled some weeks to get to church. Martha would drive her there on occasion, but having spoken to her yesterday, Dorothy wasn't feeling well enough to attend today.

The house sounded empty as she knocked, as if no one was in. Martha knocked again, a little louder, but still no answer.

"Mrs Moore?" a voice called out of the window next door.

Martha looked up and saw Dorothy's neighbour. "Hi, Patty. Is Dorothy okay?"

"She was taken to hospital yesterday. I was going to come round and tell you later. She had a fall just before the nurse came. She was pretty shaken up," Patty said, her Bronx accent irritating Martha as it always did.

"Which hospital was she taken to?"

"St Louis'," Patty called back. "I'm going to visit her later. I'll let you know how she is."

Martha nodded. "Thank you. Be sure to give her my love." And she turned around, continuing the brisk walk to her destination.

* * *

Reid had the same murky feeling he got when he'd had too much beer the night before. He rarely drank enough to have a hangover, preferring to be clear headed the following day; but the combination of lack of sleep, a dull pain from his wounds from Utah, and the beginnings of the emotional fallout of what was going on around them, had caused him to relate his current cloudy head to the morning after a night out with Rossi. Something that had only happened twice, and the second occasion was never spoken of.

He glanced over at Rossi who was sipping coffee and flicking through Boyd's car magazine. They were heading to Cale Green Park to canvas regular patrons about other people that went there. Of course, it was a double-edged sword. Every time they spoke to someone they were carrying out an evaluation of their own, analysing behaviour.

The weather was pleasant for early November. It was a crisp day, cold but bright. The clouds that had covered the sky during the night had lifted, leaving a glorious blue instead; the perfect day for a stroll in a park.

"You ready to head off, Rossi?" Reid said, noticing that Rossi had finished his coffee. He'd taken his average amount of time to drink it, the slowest being just over twenty minutes, the quickest less than two. It was a characteristic Reid pinned a lot on to deduce someone's mood. Emily could take almost an hour to drink a mug of coffee when she wasn't stressed and was in a good mood, yet she had been known to down one straight from the pot when Morgan was riling her. Morgan tended to consume his slowly at first, taking fifteen or twenty minutes to drink half or slightly less, before emptying the mug in one. Reid had tried to analyse Hotch's coffee drinking habits, but had realised that Hotch was onto his unauthorised analysis, and had therefore glared at Reid and drank his coffee differently each time he'd noticed Reid watching.

"I guess," Rossi said. "Although it is Sunday. I don't suppose a lot of folks will be there until later this morning." He stood up and took the mug over to the sink, tipping out the remainder and putting it in the dishwasher. "Still, it'll get us out of here for a couple of hours."

Reid stretched, catching an empty vase on the window ledge and making it rock precariously. "Do we have to pay for damages while we're staying here?"

"I might be a good idea if we didn't find out," Rossi said, giving Reid a look that suggested he was getting a little off track.

Reid nodded, picking up his coat off the back of his chair and tripping over one of JJ's shoes. They'd discovered that JJ was not as conscientious about tidying away her footwear as she was her files, and already Hotch and Will had fallen over one of her boots. "How many shoes does she have?" Reid said, not expecting a response from Rossi other than another of his looks.

Instead Rossi raised his eyebrows. "Who knows? My second wife had over a hundred and forty pairs until we got divorced."

Reid looked at him puzzled. "She spend the alimony on more or something?"

"No," Rossi said. "I received half of them. Well, she was going for half of everything of mine, so why not?"

Reid laughed, then frowned, recalling a conversation from when Rossi had first rejoined the bureau. "Hang on, wasn't your second wife the heiress?"

"Yes. She had money, but brains had evaded her when it came to finance." He picked up the keys to one of the cars. Hotch had briefly gone through a few safety precautions with them an hour or so ago, just after Agent Boyd had returned and issued them with new, non-FBI cell phones. They were basic models, only for making and receiving calls, so Garcia or Kevin sending information to them would no longer be an option. "I'll drive. I know a quick route from here."

Reid followed him out to the car, pulling his thick overcoat around him. A sharp wind was blowing cold enough to chill the bone.

* * *

Hotch watched Reid and Rossi leave, and made the decision then that Reid's coat would have to be quietly disposed of. He was pretty sure it dated back to the 1950's, and had belonged to someone who considered themselves to be a private eye from some Film Noir. He heard the sound of the car engine start up a little tentatively, the coldness of the previous night not agreeing with the vehicle's disposition. It was a concern that they were without the equipment they were used to and a worry that some lines of communication were down. Hotch didn't consider himself to be irrational, but given the list of things he could write to worry about at present, he was beginning to wonder if he was being too cautious.

The car soon became concealed as it wove through the trees. In a few minutes Emily and Morgan would head out also, and then Agent Rose and Agent Boyd would begin the journey to Washington to speak with two members of their team who would investigate the people who had access to the phone numbers.

He'd be left with JJ and Will, and Kevin and Garcia, although the latter two would be holed up in the office they had commandeered. Hotch thought about JJ for a moment and the persona she presented. She looked like she should be a push over; slender, blonde and pretty, she lacked the natural tenacity that Emily exuded, yet she had one of the toughest jobs in dealing with the media and general public, as well as prioritising the cases that they worked on. He'd already concluded that himself and JJ were the most likely targets for a stalker, although they couldn't take that as gospel.

There was the possibility that their UnSub was someone who felt they had been slighted when dealing with the team, and this was their revenge, or punishment. Or there was also the chance it was someone who had developed an attraction to one of the team's members and perceived others as standing in their way of pursuing their desire. The possibilities were almost endless, and until they had more evidence, it would be difficult to narrow them down. They only had certain parameters to work with, and they were ones that weren't narrowing down any potential lists.

He returned to his computer, going through recent psych evaluations on employees based at Quantico that fitted in with other criteria. He recognised most names; Tim Lowth, Jordan Cummins, Lewis Hart, Troy Schonfield, Kiefer Hyman, James Smithson. Not all were agents, but then, Hotch thought it more likely to be someone who wasn't an agent, although Boyd thought differently.

Agent Boyd was struggling. His ability to think clearly was impeded by the death of Mansfield and Hotch had real concerns about his ability to work on this case. But they were in a catch 22 situation; if he suggested to Strauss that Boyd should be placed on emergency leave, then they would have yet another person to bring up to speed on the investigations and another person in the loop. The solution was to keep Boyd on a tight leash, making sure he couldn't act rashly, and Hotch was pretty sure he could manage that for the moment, at least.

He read through the first psych eval. He'd searched first for agents and civilians who had been investigated for misuse of a firearm, and Troy Schonfield had come up. He was thirty-six, worked in IT and recently divorced. He carried a weapon and had done the weapons training at Quantico when he'd first joined up, and then taken the refresher course when it was due, but had been reprimanded for shooting at a stray dog. He'd also spent two years attached to the bomb disposal unit back in Michigan, before moving to Quantico four years ago. He checked a lot of boxes, especially the one that suggested recent crisis. His divorce had hit him hard, and he'd taken several weeks off with stress. His psych eval suggested that he was suffering from a bi-polar disorder, and was prone to severe mood swings. He'd turned down the offered medication.

The rest were similar. There was nothing to distinguish them from one another, and by the time Emily and Morgan had left, Hotch was feeling more frustrated than ever. They had to narrow down the suspect pool somehow, and preferably without another event.

He picked up the file that contained the last letter that had been sent, detailing Morgan's recent purchases. Their UnSub was thorough, meticulous with detail, and used to noticing the minutiae. No fact was unimportant, and although anyone with an obsession would notice fine details, this person had missed nothing according to Morgan, which told of a practised eye. It was also someone who could predict what would happen in situations like this. They had known the phones would be swapped, they knew protocol, and they would now know that communication was weaker. It was a clever plan, to weaken them slowly, and Hotch wondered what the motivation behind it was.

An unfamiliar ring echoed around the room and it took him a few seconds to realise that it was his new cell. He answered it cautiously, half expecting it to be the UnSub as the number wasn't recognised.

"Hotchner," he said, his heart rate rising.

"It's Strauss. We've had another letter. I'm about to fax it to you."

"How was it delivered?"

"To my home," she said, sounding annoyed rather than anxious or upset. "I'm staying elsewhere for the next few days, which is most inconvenient. Is the team okay where you are?"

"They're fine," Hotch said, looking to where the fax machine had been plugged in. It was beginning to come to life. "Everything's been impeccably organised."

"Good," Strauss said. "And you're having them check in regularly when they're out?"

"As much as they can without causing disruption." He took the fax from the machine and began to scan it.

"Then I'll leave you to it, Agent Hotchner. I expect to hear from you by the end of the day."

His response was non-committal, too concerned with what was written in the letter. Without thought, he dialled Emily, his heart almost palpating out of his chest when there was no answer.

_Thanks for reading – please do review!_

_Sarah x_


	18. Chapter Seventeen

_Thank you for the reviews! This chapter is unbeta'd as I've just finished writing it! I'm rather busy at the moment, so chapters will be shorter because of that. Thank you to __**Kim**__ and __**Notafirsttimereviewer**__!_

_Enjoy!_

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"A friendship can weather most things and thrive in thin soil; but it needs a little mulch of letters and phone calls and small, silly presents every so often - just to save it from drying out completely.**"**

**- Pam Brown**

**Chapter Seventeen**

**November 6****th**

The crisp day had pulled people to the park like a magnet, the weak Autumnal sun casting a low light on bare branches and bare soil. Dogs patrolled round, sniffing for animals that were hiding in wait for summer, their last foray before Winter settled in. Reid looked about the field, knowing he looked awkward. His thinness was emphasised by the large coat, it being slightly too big, and he knew his hair, uncut and unkempt, made people wonder about him. He had never been sure if that was good or not. At school, he'd been noticed for being different, and then tormented and teased. But as an adult, standing out didn't seem to be too bad a thing, and besides, he didn't care about it now; adults generally weren't as cruel as children.

A couple with a small child under three were sat down on one of the old wooden benches, that really needed replacing. The coats and walking boots they wore looked expensive, the woman's hair appeared expensively cut and styled, and they looked affluent, as had the other families.

Reid approached them slowly, their expressions looking concerned as he drew near. It wasn't always the done thing, to speak to strangers, and he knew he would attract more concerned looks that what Rossi would. He flashed his FBI badge and gave them a smile. "Excuse me," he said, aware of one of the borrowed agents glancing in his direction while speaking to a lone man walking a dog. "We're making enquiries about crimes that have been taking place in the neighbourhood. Do you come to this park frequently?"

The man nodded. "Yes. Every week, at least. Usually my wife or the nanny comes here with my son. Why – should we be concerned?" He looked around as if he expected someone to jump out the nearby shrubbery.

"No more than you should be usually," Reid said, noticing the look of apprehension deepening. He often wondered why people weren't more vigilant anyway, why they didn't expect bad things to happen and prepare for them. "Has anyone in the park made you suspicious at all? For any reason?"

"What do you mean by suspicious?" the woman said.

"They may have appeared friendly, but something about them didn't seem right? Or you just wanted to keep your distance from them?" Reid said. They were trying to not give too much information away, not wanting to alert the UnSub by creating a panic among local residents.

The woman shook her head. "There's been no one around who's been like that," she said. "This is a really safe park; that's why we come here so much. I can let Jacob out of his buggy and he can run around and play without being too worried."

"Is there ever anyone who pays particular interest in young children? May bring sweets for them and talk with them – possibly called Ronnie or John?" Reid said, knowing what the next question would be.

"You mean like a paedophile?"

He was right. He knew he would be. "No," he said, shaking his head. "We think someone is targeting older couples or single men between forty and fifty-five, who take an interest in children just because they're being friendly, with no ulterior motive. So if you've seen or know anyone who's like that, then a name or description could be really useful to us as we'd need to warn them to be on the lookout." It was a lie they'd agreed in the car; a way to make people talk, and give information, while doing something they felt was right.

The woman looked thoughtful. "I guess there are a few people of around that age that fit that description. You really think they are at risk?"

"It's a possibility," Reid said. "Who is it you're thinking of?"

She shrugged, glancing at her husband. "There's guy who comes in who sometimes uses an electric wheelchair. I don't know his name, but my friend said he lost a limb in the Gulf War and has a prosthetic, but doesn't like to walk on it or something. He's kind to the children. Then there's this couple who come in the park on a Sunday. I think she's a school teacher. I always feel sorry for her because she's so lovely with the children, but doesn't seem to have any of her own – there's this sadness about her. And then there's another couple, or there was. I think they moved away. I don't know any names, I'm afraid." Her concentration wandered as Jacob began to cry and her husband stared at his son a little hopelessly.

"You've been very helpful. If you do see anything, please give me a call. Here's my card." He handed them his details and gave them another quick smile and a nod, before turning away to see Rossi walking towards him.

They met at the side of the children's play area, a chorus of cries piercing the air. "Any luck?" Reid said, the other two agents still talking with others.

Rossi shrugged. "So-so. A couple of mothers were talking about a school teacher who comes here with her husband, and something about a man in a wheelchair..."

"I got that too. Any names given?" Reid said, a sense of excitement creeping over him.

"No. No ideas about where they live. I imagine Garcia will be able to give us details on the disabled guy, but it's doubtful it would be him. We need someone who is able bodied to get those children out of their homes." Rossi looked about him, hands in pockets. "I guess we carry on for a while longer and see what we else we can come up with."

Reid nodded, turning back around and narrowly missing being ran into by an over exuberant toddler.

* * *

Hotch tried to call again, still receiving no answer. Her phone was switched on, else it would have gone through to a message saying that it was switched off. The voicemail feature on their phones had been disabled. Just in case.

His heart beat had risen, panic creeping into every nerve. The letter had been unsettling, more so than any of the others, and his instinct was to check that she was okay. He dialled Morgan, this time the call going straight through to a voice which told him there was no reception where Morgan was. Hotch sat down at the desk, his eyes automatically drawn to the letter in front of him.

A knock sounded at the door before it was opened and Will LaMontagne appeared, holding mug of coffee. "I figured I'd make myself useful while Henry's asleep," he said. "And it looks like you just seen a ghost."

Hotch stared at him, not sure whether he was relieved to see him or not. "Thank you," he said, reaching for the coffee which smelt strong.

"Is everything okay, Hotch?" Will said, the formalities having been dropped.

"I've just had a letter faxed from Erin Strauss that was delivered to her address this morning," his eyes went back to the paper. "There are threats made towards Emily. It seems to be targeting her." He wondered whether to show it Will. The guy was a good detective, and there was certainly nothing to lose by involving him further in the investigation. "Here."

Will took the paper and began to read, his face expressionless. He passed it back a minute later, his eyes steely. "You think Emily's his target? It sounds like he blames her for something, but she's not the one he has his eye on."

Hotch nodded. "It covers details very much like it did in the correspondence about Morgan; what she buys, where she eats out – all the details he could have from looking into her financial records and back tracking orders for home furnishings. But there's more bitterness here, as if she's acted in a way that has hindered him."

"But this is the first direct threat."

"And he's named the couple that were interviewed yesterday at the Bureau; who she and Morgan are meeting now, and neither of them are answering their cell phones. I'll have to call the place direct. He could have followed them there." He drank the coffee, ignoring its heat, and picking up the phone on his desk.

"You need me to do anything?" Will said. "A fresh pair of eyes? I know I'm no profiler, but..."

Hotch nodded, stopping Will's sentence. "The top file on that pile on the chair contains all the correspondence we've had from him. Would you read through and see what you notice? You may pick up on things that we wouldn't."

"Sure. I'll take it with me downstairs. Shout if you need anything else."

Hotch waited until he'd left before dialling the place where Emily and Morgan had arranged to meet with the parents of the other children. They weren't due to meet for another forty minutes, but the way Hotch was thinking right now, they wouldn't be meeting at all. They would have to pull themselves off the case and pass it on to another team to investigate. Ms Fletcher and Geoff Thompson would just have to deal with more people becoming involved.

A receptionist answered, and Hotch made sure he kept his voice steady while he asked if Agents Prentiss and Morgan had arrived yet.

"No, sir, I'm afraid not. Shall I ask them to contact you once they've arrived?" the receptionist said.

Hotch agreed, giving him relevant details. Even if their UnSub knew where they were heading to, he wouldn't necessarily know where Morgan and Prentiss were heading from. He tried their cell phones again, getting exactly the same response as before.

He didn't bang his hand on the desk, or curse. Instead he called the agent who was picking the couple up and taking them to the hotel, to tell him to turn back and cancel the arrangement. Then he contacted Rossi, and asked him to make his way back without giving any details, or reasons for the instruction.

But the calm exterior lied about the maelstrom that was taking place inside, and as he looked out of the window he prayed that the car Morgan and Prentiss had left in would return, its occupants unharmed.

* * *

Sophie boarded the plane trying to appear more confident than she actually felt. She'd never flown before, and if it hadn't have been for the row she'd had with her mother the night before, she'd have made some excuse to Emily that she couldn't come. However, a couple of days away seemed like a good idea, especially since she wouldn't have been missing any school. They had to perform emergency maintenance on the heating system, it having collapsed through general wear and tear, hence the celebration of several teenagers in Calverville Point and the surrounding areas.

A flight attendant checked the letter from her mom giving permission for her to fly alone and gave her a quick smile. "It's only a short flight," she said. "This your first time alone?"

"First time full stop," Sophie said. "I've never flown before."

The attendant's smile grew warmer. "You'll be fine. I'm Amy. Give me a shout if you need anything. There's an empty seat near you, so I'll sit there when we take off."

Sophie nodded, feeling a little relieved at seeing a friendly face. When she arrived in Washington she was being picked up by a friend of Emily's and he would take her to Emily's apartment. He'd sounded nice, from what Emily had said; he worked at the Bureau and would show her his badge – she was to check it before getting in the car – and he would be wearing a black suit with a blue tie. Sophie had hoped that Emily herself would have been collecting her, but she'd emailed late last night to say that they had a case in Washington so she'd be on that, but it shouldn't take too long to sort out.

There was a sense of something indefinable in the pit of her stomach though, a strange feeling that she put down to nerves about flying. Emily had sounded different in her emails during the past few days; she'd used more exclamation marks than usual and had enquired a little too much about school work – something she tended to leave to Sophie to bring up. And there was her phone, which Sophie was allowed to call because of some security breach. She pulled her wallet out of her purse and looked in a compartment for a card that she'd kept with her constantly since she'd left hospital. Agent Rossi had given it to her at some point – she couldn't remember exactly when, some parts were too much of a blur – but his number was on it, and not just his cell, but his office number as well. She wondered if she should call him before meeting up with Emily's friend. You could never be too far on the safe side.

* * *

Martha called into the Hyman's delicatessen on the way back from church, her mind flittering between her neighbour and the list of things she had to do tomorrow. At some point she needed to go to the gym, try and run off a few of those pounds she seemed to be accumulating, although she would be teaching a gym class the following day, so she might just try to be a bit more active then.

She'd phoned John as soon as the service was over and told him she'd be a little longer than anticipated, wanting to pop into the store and buy some cooked meats for lunch tomorrow. She'd taken to making John a packed lunch every day, along with hers.

A shelf that was a little too high for her to reach caught her eye. "Solomon," she said to the shop owner who was pouring over that morning's newspaper. "Do you think you could pass me one of those?"

"A lunch box?" he said, looking up. "Which colour?"

"The blue one," she said. "It looks quite sturdy."

"It is," Solomon said, reaching up and nudging the item off the shelf. "Here you go. Is it for John?"

Martha smiled and nodded. "He needs a new one. The one I bought a couple of months ago I'm using to put lunch in for a child in my class who never brings anything."

"Really?" Solomon said. "I wouldn't have thought parents would send a kid out to school with nothing to eat; not round here anyway."

"Oh, you'd be surprised. I'll have a packet of matzos too, please." She smiled as she paid. Solomon was a nice man, and a good father – she'd taught three of his girls, all bright and pretty. Then she was on her way, back to her house and the breakfast he husband was making for her.

_**Please review – next update Tuesday.**_

_**There will be an extra scene for regular reviewers next weekend!**_


	19. Chapter Eighteen

_Thank you to my reviewers! You are wonderful! If I haven't replied to your review yet, I will be doing shortly. Thanks to __**notafirsttimereviewer, Kim **__and __**schokokaffee.**_

_Big thanks to __**Chiroho**__ for the beta and his amazing knowledge about jaws and cars..._

_Next update Thursday; now make sure you review!_

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"I am convinced, the way one plays chess always reflects the player's personality. If something defines his character, then it will also define his way of playing."

**- Vladimir Kramnik**

**Chapter Eighteen**

**November 6****th**

She could see the stars.

They twinkled silver in the black sky, each a sun more than a hundred million miles away. For a moment the scene was something from a fairytale, a pretty picture, until she opened her eyes. Instinct told her to put her hand on her weapon, a millisecond of doubt making her wonder whether it would be there. It was; sitting in its holster, a cold piece of reassurance.

Pain jolted like lightning down her shoulder as she started to move. Her left arm was numb, the position she was lying in stopping the blood from circulating. She twisted again, trying to ignore the pain, but tears spilled silently out of her eyes. She gritted her teeth, and pushed against the passenger side door.

"Emily?"

She couldn't speak, not yet, she wasn't sure why.

"Prentiss?" Morgan's voice was drowsy, as if he had just woken up out of a lovely dream. "My phone's in the glove box."

She stretched out, realising that they were still in the car, and that it had rolled, stopping with the driver's side pinned to the ground. A recent memory pounded at her, an image of a car behind them, Morgan shouting.

The glove box opened, and she gripped the phone with the tips of her fingers, pulling it onto her thigh. The pain had either dulled, or her brain had become numb to it, she wasn't sure which.

"Call Hotch," Morgan said. "We're about five miles from the hotel, but we're off the main road."

Another flashback. Gunfire. A violent swerve. Their small car being driven off the road, down a bank. Rolling. Rolling.

"How did he know?" she said, finally finding her voice. "How did he know where we were?"

"We did something that gave us away," Morgan said. "Phone Hotch, Emily. We need to get out of here."

"But he could still be waiting. He had a gun..." she heard the first signs of hysteria in her voice, shock setting in. Panic.

"No," Morgan said. "He's gone. He won't have hung around. We need to get out of the car."

She made her fingers dial the number she had memorised, and hit the key to put the call on speaker. Morgan couldn't move, and she was jammed into her seat by the safety belt; she couldn't get enough leverage to kick at the door or the windscreen. She didn't do car crashes. There had been one when she was younger; a night out with a boy who had been drinking. She'd been seventeen. The car had kissed the tree and put Bryan in hospital for seven weeks and put his hopes of joining the marines in the morgue. It was still the cause of nightmares. Now she had more fuel for those dreams.

"Derek. Where are you?" His voice sounded desperate, agitated. How long had they been lying in the car? How long had he been trying to get in touch with them?

"Hotch," she said, almost shouted. "We've been run off the road. The car..."

"Where are you?"

She could tell he'd started walking.

"Just off the main road between Westonville and Keighley. I took a left to throw him off, but he seemed to anticipate it, and followed. He pushed us close to the shoulder and we ended up skidding over. I don't remember the finer points," Morgan said. "We're stuck in the vehicle, Hotch. We need an ambulance, and probably someone to cut us out."

"They're on their way," Hotch said, his voice quiet rather than distant. "Can you tell if you've been injured?"

"I'd guess we're both concussed, plus various cuts and bruises," Morgan's voice seemed kind of slurred she realised. "I'm pinned, but I can move my legs slightly and I have no neck or back pain."

"Prentiss?"

The use of her surname almost made her smile. He was distancing himself, not wanting to show emotion. "I feel like I've been in a car accident," she said, hoping a bit of humour would make Hotch feel less worried. "My seat belt's jammed and I'm sore all over, but nothing worrying." Things were making more sense now. "We don't know if he's still around though; if he's waiting for responders to arrive." She didn't agree with Morgan, although she thought it was likely that their UnSub had already gone, his message sent.

There was a pause, and Emily wondered if they'd lost contact. "None of the team are coming," Hotch said. "Garcia's been in touch with the local PD and they're on their way. You'll be taken to the nearest hospital, Westonville General, and you are to register under false names. The locals will stay with you until they can bring you back here."

"Hotch," Morgan said. "I don't think he was trying to kill us. If he was, he'd have pushed us over the other way so we'd have gone into the river. This attack wasn't meant to be fatal."

"He already warned us what he was going to do. A letter was sent to Strauss this morning, threatening to make sure Emily didn't interfere again. There was mention of the couple you spoke to yesterday. I suspect he tapped their phones, or somehow managed to pull their information, which wouldn't have been difficult, and found out the arrangements for today."

"But how would he know where we were coming from, Hotch? We could be staying anywhere," Morgan said, he words still sounding slower than usual.

There was another pause. "Did you fill the car with gas this morning?"

"Shit." Emily closed her eyes. "We had a virtually empty tank."

"What card did you use to pay?" Hotch said. "That's how he knew which direction you were coming from."

"It was the expenses one. I'm sorry Hotch – I just didn't think... bastard," Morgan said. "We were at the gas station on Trinity Road in Little Foreshaw, where we could have stopped had we been driving from the Quantico area. He couldn't have worked out where we actually came from."

The sound of sirens permeated the silence around them and Hotch hung up. Emily twisted her head to look at Morgan, whose eyes were closed. She tried to stretch out a leg once more, to kick against the passenger door, but the action was futile, the door jammed.

"Morgan," she said, trying to stay practical. "Derek – you need to stay awake."

He stirred, moving slightly, his actions impeded by the way he was lying.

Emily noticed the broken window, shattered during the impact of the car rolling. If they had been in one of their usual vehicles they would have managed to stay on the road without an issue, they wouldn't have skidded. It's possible the UnSub's car would have come off worse. She tried to force herself to remember each detail, but the scenes seemed murky and her head was beginning to ache. A soft groan came from Derek, and she focused on him, hearing voices calling as footsteps came towards them.

"Can you hear me?" she heard someone say. "We're going to get you out."

"I can hear you," she said. "But my partner's drifting in and out of consciousness – he was speaking a few minutes ago though." She could feel panic welling up inside, and she tried to subdue it, staying rational. The car began to move slightly with the force of someone trying to pull open the passenger door. "What's your name?"

"Peter McLeod," the voice said. "I'm with the fire department. We should get you out of here in a couple of minutes."

The couple of minutes had turned into twenty five and a very complicated operation involving the jaws of life during which time Emily had felt as if she was being subjected to punishment on a torture rack. Morgan had drifted in and out of consciousness, and she almost envied the times when he hadn't felt the sharp aches that were ransacking her legs and head.

Once in the ambulance, painkillers being administered and the reassurance of the paramedic that there was no serious damage done, she allowed herself to begin to relax, hoping that it would help the recollections of what had happened come to the surface, and they could find out more about the man who was doing his best to terrify them, or possibly worse.

* * *

Hotch sat down in the kitchen, the atmosphere tense and silent. JJ was making coffee, her back to the rest of them, and he wondered what expression was on her face. Rossi was uncharacteristically quiet, deep in thought, scribbling in his notebook. Reid was staring out of the window, his hands in his pockets, and that dreadful coat flung across the back of one of the dining chairs.

Agent Boyd had gone to the crime scene, taking his two colleagues with him. He'd said little when he'd heard about the incident, and Hotch had recognised a personal battle going on behind his eyes. It was personal for them all, but Boyd's reaction each time something happened seemed to be carrying him further to the dark side.

"Guys," the silence was split by Kevin entering the room. He'd heard about Emily and Morgan, expressed his dismay, then continued with whatever it was he was searching on his laptop. Hotch had envied him the ability to stick his head in the sand of the other case. "I think I may have identified the people you interviewed in the park were talking about."

There was a slight change in the weight of the atmosphere as both Reid and Rossi turned towards Kevin.

"There was a campaign in Cale Green Park five months ago encouraging people to use the outdoor fitness centre that had just been completed. Why anyone would want one of those I don't understand; however, I digress. The local newspaper covered the event and included photographs of some of the people who went to see the equipment, and I believe that a couple of the shots are of the people your families were talking about."

They moved towards him as if they were somehow under Kevin's control, Reid tipping his head to one side to look at the newspaper archive that Kevin had found.

"That's got to be the man in a wheelchair that was mentioned. John Price, aged thirty nine, injured during a land mine explosion in Iraq when he was twenty-one," Reid said.

"And the couple – the caption says she's Martha Moore, a school teacher at Cale Green Elementary. Her husband's John Moore – we have a lead, Hotch. This could be the breakthrough we're looking for, and if previous abductions are anything to go by, Alfie could well still be alive," Rossi said, his voice containing a lilt of optimism.

Hotch remained expressionless. "I can't send you out to interview them," he said. "Not after what's just happened. I'll have to speak to Strauss and discuss what to do."

"Can't we have them brought in to a local station – not aggressively – and then transported locally to where we can meet them?" Reid said. Hotch could sense the urgency in him. "There's no way our UnSub could have worked out who we would be interviewing, and if we don't use Quantico in this it'll be virtually impossible for him to track what we're doing."

Hotch remained unmoved. He had two injured agents; he had to look after his team and prevent any further opportunities for their UnSub to attack them. Garcia was presently narrowing down their suspect pool, looking for people who hadn't been logged entering the building that morning. Although it was a Sunday, a fair number of agents and support staff would have still gone in for one reason or another. "I'll speak with Strauss. In the meantime, find out everything you can about John Price, and the Moores."

He left the kitchen filled with more noise now than it had been since they had lost contact with Prentiss and Morgan. He needed a few minutes alone, a few minutes to deal with the tumult of emotions that were whipping through his body. He'd had situations before when he'd not been able to get in touch with one or another of his agents; the compound in Colorado; Reid when he'd been taken hostage by Henkle – it was something he'd dealt with. But the panic he'd felt today when he'd read the letter and hadn't been able to get in touch with Emily had been very different.

No one knew, of course. Being a state prosecutor and an interrogator with the BAU for many years meant he was adept at concealing emotions, something he considered to be a real strength. Now those emotions included anger, desperation and frustration. He wanted to go to the hospital, to check with his own eyes that she was okay, but for the moment they were house bound.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea; continuing this emotional involvement with a colleague. It hadn't impeded his rational thought; he was still a professional, but it would only become more difficult.

Maybe he should sleep in one of the single rooms. Maybe they shouldn't have started this.

He pushed thoughts of Emily to one side and walked into the office room where Garcia was working and sat down next to her, pouring over the list of names that hadn't been at Quantico that morning.

_**Please press that little review thingy down there and leave me a wee message!**_

_**Sarah x**_


	20. Chapter Nineteen

_Thank you for all the reviews for the previous chapter and I haven't replied yet as I've not been getting home till gone 9.30pm and tonight is election night so I guess I'll reply while waiting for the votes to come in and I hope you enjoy this chapter and it makes you want to review and thank you to __**Chiroho**__ for the beta and to __**notafirsttimereviewer, kim, schokokaffee, sophie **__and __**Melissa **__for their reviews and I don't know why I'm not writing in proper sentences and the next chapter will be up on Sunday..._

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"Among the many thousands of things that I have never been able to understand, one in particular stands out. That is the question of who was the first person who stood by a pile of sand and said, "You know, I bet if we took some of this and mixed it with a little potash and heated it, we could make a material that would be solid and yet transparent. We could call it glass." Call me obtuse, but you could stand me on a beach till the end of time and never would it occur to me to try to make it into windows."

**- Bill Bryson**

**Chapter Nineteen**

**November 6****th**

She felt sick as the plane landed, the urge to remain on board and ask the kind flight attendant to take her back to Rapid City growing stronger with each bump. There was an announcement from the pilot, giving the time and temperature, but it fell on deaf ears. Sophie wasn't listening, the pounding heart in her chest echoing into her ears. As soon as she saw someone else with their cell phone on, she switched on hers. A voicemail came straight through, and she tapped in to listen to it.

"_Hey Sophie," _it said. _"Hope your flight was okay. Emily passed on your number as she thought you'd check your messages when you landed. I'll meet you in the arrivals area. I'll find you, so don't worry, just stand near the ad for Vogue magazine. See you in a few minutes."_

She frowned, something niggling at her. Checking the card she'd had in her pocket for the duration of the flight, she tapped in Agent Rossi's number. It seemed to ring for an age, and she was almost about to hang up when his voice mail kicked in. _"This is Agent David Rossi of the Behavioural Analysis Unit. Please leave your message and I'll get back to you when I return. "_

"Hi Agent Rossi. This is Sophie – the girl from Calverville Point. I'm on my way to see Emily, in fact, I'm at the airport now and another agent is picking me up from here. I just wanted to let you know, as I haven't been able to speak to Emily and..."

"_This voice mail box is now full. Sorry. This voice mail box is now full." _A long tone indicated the end of the call. She inhaled deeply, following the rest of the passengers as they made their way to collect their luggage. She was here now, and sure that everything would be alright. She'd had enough bad luck for one year.

* * *

"I really do need to leave," Emily said to the doctor who was looking rather angry. She had a concussion, a few cuts, and a multitude of nasty bruises; but nothing was broken, and as far as she was concerned, it was nothing that painkillers, a hot bath and a glass of wine wouldn't fix.

"Mrs. Fitzgerald," the doctor said, his Texan accent making her want to mimic it in some way. "We really would like to keep you overnight for observation. Your partner will be staying here as well."

Morgan would certainly not be going anywhere. He'd dislocated his shoulder and had a nasty concussion. She'd seen him briefly, and informed him of the name she'd given to the paramedics, after quickly letting Garcia know so she could transfer relevant medical details into a temporary file. He'd been unable to mutter much back, but the look he'd given her had signified imminent death. She didn't know why – Spencer Van Damme was a great name, at least it would be when Rossi heard of it.

"Doctor, I will be fine. I have someone to take me home to where I'm sure I'll rest much more comfortably than here. If I feel any symptoms that suggest my concussion is becoming worse, I'll return immediately," she started to stand up, trying to disguise the shakiness that she felt, and the nausea.

The doctor shook his head again. "I would prefer you stay here, Mrs. Fitzgerald, but if it is going to cause you this much agitation, you might as well go home as long as you make sure you rest and have someone with you throughout the evening, and preferably during the night."

She nodded, smiling. Both things should be covered. "I'll contact my friend and he'll take me home," she said.

He nodded, somewhat regretfully. "All the forms to discharge yourself will be at the main desk. You'll need to take it easy for the next day or two." She watched him leave, knowing that she would never feel comfortable going undercover for any length of time.

It was close to seven in the evening by the time Agent Rose had picked her up from the hospital and they'd reached the safe house. The enclave of trees it was situated in seemed eerier than they had when she'd first approached the house yesterday. They cast dark shadows that played with her imagination, as she suspected movement to come from hidden crevasses and corners. Emily was half asleep, the painkillers having a soporific effect, although the pangs of hunger were making sure she didn't completely drift off.

"You sure you should be out of hospital?" Agent Rose said as they pulled up behind the house. It was a question he'd already asked her several times, so she figured she was looking pretty haggard and pale right now.

"Yes," she said. "And I'll be safer here."

She saw him nod out of the corner of her eye, undoing her seat belt. The lights in the house looked dim, almost invisible, due to the tinted windows. From the road the house was completely concealed, tucked away behind the trees. Under different circumstances, it would have been a good place to explore, to walk through the woods and spot the birds and animals that lived there, but that wasn't going to happen.

Agent Rose opened the car door for her and gave her a hand as she stood up. Her head throbbed and she felt the exhaustion that she'd predicted. This would be it for a couple of days; her injuries would keep her housebound even if the attack hadn't already.

A door opened as they approached it and Garcia stood there, her face almost as pale as Emily's. "Oh," she said, her mouth forming a perfect circle of bright pink lipstick that could be seen even in the dim light. "My poppet. You need to sit down right away. Is there anything I can get for you?"

Emily nodded, finding that she couldn't even drag up the tea leaves of enthusiasm from the bottom of her pot. "I really, really need something to eat," she said. "I may throw it up afterwards, but my stomach is under the impression that my throat has been severely mutilated."

"I'll fix you something quick," Garcia said. "And a fruit tea. The caffeine won't do you any good." Emily followed her through the narrow corridors into the kitchen, which seemed to be the congregational place of choice, with every one there apart from Hotch, and obviously Morgan.

Emily sunk into a chair, leaning her head back and closing her eyes, Reid's voice drilling into her skull.

"Emily," Agent Rose said. "I have your painkillers – you want me to get you some water? Maybe take them now?"

She looked at him, not seeing as clearly as usual. He was a nice man, around her age, quiet and willing to please. He'd been empathetic, not asking too many questions and seemingly understanding of how she felt. "Thanks," she said, giving him a half smile that was all she could muster. He nodded, disappearing towards the sink, where Garcia was.

"Emily," she heard Hotch's voice and turned towards it, wishing she did look a little better. "How are you?"

She pushed herself up in the chair so she was sitting up, and pushed away the need for him to hold her close. Not in front of the team, or Agent Rose. Hopefully later.

"I feel concussed and exhausted. I'm starting to remember what happened more clearly."

He nodded. "Don't worry about that yet. We know he was driving a Toyota Camry as you were both caught on camera just before you turned off the main road. It was a stolen vehicle, taken three weeks ago from an address in Detroit. My guess is that he had it stolen to order."

She gave a slight nod, too much movement hurting her head further. Agent Rose reappeared with a glass of water and her medication. "Excuse me," he said to Hotch, disappearing once more. She noticed Hotch giving him an appraising look.

"How did he know where we were? He got the exact location from the track he had on the credit card, but he must have been in the area to catch up with us so quickly." It was the only thing that was puzzling her right now, the only thing that she couldn't work out.

"Morgan wasn't the only one to use his card. JJ used hers on the way here to buy diapers; Reid used his to get a magazine. We should have considered the fact that him having our financial details meant he'd be able to trace a location that way. Thankfully, none of the details will give away where we are, as here literally is the middle of nowhere. Look, I need you to rest, then tomorrow we can put more details together." Hotch looked up, and Emily became aware of Garcia nearing them, two plates in hand.

"Grilled cheese, tomato and ham sandwiches," she said, passing one each to Emily and Hotch. "You, my leader, need to eat more; and you, my lovely, need your strength and to eat more in general. Your drinks are on their way." She turned around with a flourish, clearly enjoying the waitress cum nurse role she had taken upon herself to act out.

"I agree with Garcia," Hotch said, his hand already helping the snack en route to his mouth. "Eat, have something to drink, and then sleep."

"The doctor said I shouldn't be alone," she said. There had been something different in his demeanour, she'd noticed, something distant, reticent maybe.

"I'll come with you," he said. "I may need to work for a while, but I'm not feeling too sociable right now."

His words were reassuring and she smiled, nibbling at the toasted bread and trying to forget about what had happened for a few moments, and instead just enjoy the feeling of being safe.

* * *

He had planned to sleep away from her, trying to create some emotional distance as well as physical, but he found he couldn't. Instead his arm was wrapped around her waist, his hand just under her left breast, touching skin as soft as the sheets they were wrapped in. She was sleeping soundly; her breathing patterns were normal, and she certainly hadn't been restless. That was just him.

Hotch knew that she would have picked up on something , even in her concussed state she would have noticed that he was distant. He felt confused, almost panicked, backed into a corner like a scared animal.

She turned over, adjusting herself in her sleep so she fit into his body and he pulled her a little closer. The fear he'd felt when she hadn't answered the phone, when he'd read that letter – it was more than it should have been. But it hadn't affected his actions; he'd done exactly what he would have done had it been JJ or Rossi in there with Morgan. If someone who hadn't known of their relationship had been watching his reactions, they'd never have known that he and Prentiss had shared a bed for the past however many nights.

A floorboard outside their room creaked, and he heard Reid speaking to Will in an undertone. They had been discussing the Alfie Fletcher case when he'd last been downstairs, going through the information on the Moore couple and the other man. The local PD had been asked to keep an eye on both addresses, to report any suspicious activity, and tomorrow Hotch would arrange for them to be escorted to a station in the next county where they would be questioned on a 'friendly' basis by JJ, Reid, or Rossi.

Then two doors were closed, almost simultaneously, and outside was silent once again, except for the house's night time breathing that was already becoming more familiar. Emily stirred slightly, her hand pressing against his chest, and he felt something inside him stir. Hotch brushed her hair away from the side of her face, careful to not touch the cut that was there, and closed his eyes, knowing that sleep could soothe the problems that night time intensified, and dawn would provide a path to a solution.

**Please review!**

**Sarah x**


	21. Chapter Twenty

_This hasn't been beta'd as I'm getting little time to write at present. We're currently landscaping the garden, and I'm spending a good deal of free time doing that, as well as all the usual chores and marking – of which there is an enormous amount at this time of year. I can't promise an update this week. There may be one on Wednesday, depending what I have to do tomorrow and Tuesday night, and then there will be one on Sunday. Regular reviewers will get a little HP scene in the next few days that is unconnected to this story._

_I apologise for going off my usual routine of posting. I would rather write than do anything else, but time is not in plentiful supply at the moment. I haven't got round to review replies, so I'd just like to say thank you now to everyone – they are the reason I keep writing this fic and spend any time I can on it!_

_Apologies for any mistakes in here - _

"**Where the Blue of the Night**

"It is always darkest just before the Day dawneth."

**- Thomas Fuller**

**Chapter Twenty**

**November 7****th**

The morning had arrive wrapped in a crisply cold blanket; grazes of white frost lingered on the ground and on exposed tree branches. The cars would need scraping before they could drive away, and their interiors would be as a cold as the outside. It was beautiful around the safe house; its stillness and quiet setting it far apart from the everyday hustle and noise of the city, or even the small nearby towns.

But something else lingered there, hidden away behind the thick clusters of forestry. Something that prevented the place from soothing as it should. JJ felt as if something else was there with them, something besides the wild life and birds that lingered. The silence was too quiet, the house too sheltered, and she was strangely discomforted by the solace that the house brought. Besides, they were all becoming restless, like trapped animals. There was no easy solution; no way out lighting up in front of them, and all they could do was take sensible steps to drawing out their UnSub, while trying to find the missing boy.

She'd had nightmares, unsettling visions that had woken her and sent her downstairs in the middle of the early hours of the morning, when everything was frozen still with sleep. She'd dreamt of Alfie Fletcher, of finding his corpse, in a thicket just metres from where she slept. She'd not been able to get back to sleep and had sat listening to the grandfather clock tick rhythmically, the only sound fracturing the night.

"You ready to go, JJ?" Reid said, appearing as if a magic trick had just taken place.

She nodded, looking out of the window. "I don't suppose Rossi's de-iced the car?"

"I think that's our job," he said, with a wry smile. "I suppose we could just turn on the engine and leave it running for ten minutes while we have a coffee. It's not like it's going to get stolen out here."

"Sounds like a plan," she said. "I'll make the coffee." She flicked her hair over her shoulder as she strode off towards the kettle. The long kitchen had become the meeting place of choice for the team, Agent Boyd and his two men preferring to use the small sitting room on the other side of the building. It was if they were somewhat in denial, and sitting together would tip them out of that state.

Reid gave her a resigned look and pulled his scarf around his neck a second time. She couldn't help but smile.

They'd gone through two coffees and the car had no ice left on it at all by the time Rossi emerged, Hotch by his side. Both looked serious, an expression that hadn't differed much since they'd returned from Utah.

"How's Emily, Hotch?" JJ said during what seemed to be a lull in their discussion.

"She's okay," he said. "She woke up briefly and took some painkillers, and then went back to sleep. I've heard from the hospital this morning and Morgan's had a restless night. They're going to keep him in for at least another night. He's taken a nasty blow to the head and it's going to take another twenty four hours at least before they'll be happy to discharge him."

"Is he able to talk about what happened?" JJ said, rebuttoning her coat as Rossi looked anxious to leave.

"So-so," Hotch said. "He's going to be interviewed by Agent Rose later and then probably again when he returns here – or hopefully home. You should head off. The meeting's scheduled for ten thirty with the Moores and it's a good ninety minute drive away."

They were silent as they left; no banter or jovial comments as there usually were, and JJ felt the atmosphere pinching at nerves. The car was warm inside, and she directed the heater towards her, knowing Reid would be huddled into his coat in the back. He would forget the temperature and focus on the scenery outside, as was his way, analysing distances and the elements that made this area unique.

"Strauss has been moved to a safe house," Rossi said, after he had driven about five miles and skidded once as they approached lights. "She went reluctantly, but because the UnSub knows her address it's considered too much of a risk her being there."

"Has there been any more communication from him?" Reid said. JJ could see him in the mirror, looking at the fields and farmland they were passing.

"Nothing. We've decided that Garcia will reactivate her work email account in order to check some documents that have been sent to her regarding the tapping of cell phones. Hopefully, it'll draw him out online," Rossi said. He looked tired, and JJ wondered how much sleep they'd averaged. She doubted it was more than five hours. Not enough to deal with what they were facing.

"She's the most likely one to break the wall of silence that's around us," Reid said. "But he may still figure that it's a set up."

"We've got to start trying something. Unfortunately, there are too many people who fit the profile that are based at Quantico – we need something more concrete than what we have already to identify him," Rossi said. The car fell silent once more. If he went to ground, they could face weeks or even months contained in the safe house. It wasn't something she wanted to contemplate.

It took less than Hotch's prediction to reach the station to where John and Martha Moore had been brought. A quick exchange as Rossi parked determined the tack they would take with the couple; JJ and Rossi interviewing them first, then switching with Reid if need be. John Price was being brought over a little later, once they had finished with the Moores, although no one thought for one minute that he would have had the capabilities to abduct any of the children.

Martha Moore was small and slightly rounded. She had large cheeks that were too made up, and eyes that sparkled even in the dull light of the police station. She looked worried, and was clinging to her husband as if he was a life raft in a flood. John Moore looked younger than his wife, his face neatly sculpted with prominent cheekbones and a distinguished air about him. JJ would never have put them together – Martha was not the trophy wife she could imagine a man like him seeking, but then she could have been being presumptuous.

"Why are we here?" Martha Moore said. "The detective who came to collect us this morning couldn't explain anything, he just said it was something to do with the FBI and that you'd explain when you got here. We haven't done anything, and we don't know anything – and I do have a job to do you know..." she eventually ran out of steam. JJ gave her a soft smile, feeling pity for her. They had been brought to the station with no explanation, except that they were needed urgently, and once there, they had been left to their own devices.

"Mrs Moore," JJ said. "We will explain everything. Can we get you a cup of coffee or water?" She noticed that no drinks had been brought for them, the local police not being interested in two people that they had nothing to do with.

"No," Mrs Moore said. "I just want to get out of here and back to my class. I'm an elementary school teacher and my children will be wondering where I am."

There was a turn of phrase that caught JJ's attention; '_my children'. _Martha Moore had never had any children. The medical records Kevin had uncovered had shown that she had been left infertile at the age of twenty, when an emergency hysterectomy had meant she'd never conceive a child of her own. It was understandable that she'd choose a career where she'd have a responsibility to children, although if her husband did turn out to be their UnSub in the Alfie Fletcher case, then JJ could see disastrous repercussions for her.

"That's fine, Mrs Moore," Rossi said, sitting down at the table, facing the couple who were still holding hands. "We believe you may have been witnesses to someone who has been taking an unhealthy interest in children in your local area, and we need to know if you can help us."

"Couldn't you have just come to our home for that?" John Moore said. "This morning has been traumatic for Martha. If this is something routine..."

Rossi shook his head. "No, it isn't routine. A young boy has been abducted and we are trying to chase up leads as to where he may be being held. Your names were given to us as people who are often visitors to the park nearby and we wondered if you'd seen anything suspicious."

Mr Moore looked at them, his mouth slightly agape, as if something had just clicked inside his head. "Why couldn't we have been told this by the police officer who picked us up?"

"Because they don't know anything about it," JJ said, unsure if she liked Mr Moore any more than she had done when she first saw him. "This is a case where only the people who need to know are informed."

"Oh." Mr Moore looked a little deflated, as if he could really have an argument. "Do we know the child who has been taken?"

"Possibly," JJ said. "His name's Alfie Fletcher. He regularly goes to the park that you and your wife visit. Are you aware of him?"

JJ saw Mrs Moore glance at her husband, as if waiting for permission to speak.

"I know an Alfie," Mr Moore said. "We walk past this boy's house from time to time, depending which way we walk into the park, and which park we go to. He's a little tinker – curious and happy. Martha walks an elderly neighbour's dog from time to time to help out, and Alfie was always keen to stroke him. I don't know his surname though."

He was too open, JJ knew automatically. There was no reason why he should admit to knowing where Alfie lived, especially if he was the UnSub. Mr Moore hadn't come across as being particularly intelligent so far, and they knew that whoever was responsible for Alfie's disappearance would have to have a bit more. "How old is he?"

Mr Moore shrugged at looked at his wife. "I'm useless with kids' ages. All I could say would be that he looked just about old enough to start school. Martha will have more of an idea."

"He's around three and a half, so no, John, he wouldn't be old enough yet. He's a nice kid – are you sure he's missing?" Martha Moore said, beginning to look bereft.

Rossi confirmed the address with them, leaving saddened expressions on both of the couple's faces. "We need to know if you've seen anyone suspicious hanging around the park, or Alfie's house," Rossi said. "Anything at all could be of use."

"There's been an odd looking man lurking about," Martha Moore said. "I'd see him keeping to the outside of the children's play area, just watching. I did wonder whether I should mention it at the local police station, but I thought I was just imagining things. He was there on the day I took my class to the playground to study forces, gravity and such."

"You never mentioned him before," John Moore said, the lines on his brow creasing as he frowned. "Why didn't you?"

Mrs Moore shrugged. "I guess I didn't want to make a fuss. Did you never notice him, John?"

Her husband shook his head.

"No, I guess you wouldn't. I was more my senses that alerted me to him. I saw him walking down Alfie's road once when I was taking the dog for a walk after school was out for the day. I crossed over as I felt uncomfortable walking on the same side as him – the man not the dog. I'm sorry, I can't believe Alfie's gone missing..." her eyes brimmed with tears. John Moore put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to him. For a moment, JJ saw genuine affection being exchanged between the two of them, Martha Moore excepting it almost needily.

"Mrs Moore," Rossi said, drawing back their attention. "You work as an elementary school teacher, is that correct?"

She nodded, looking as wide eyed as a bush baby.

"And Mr Moore – what is your occupation?"

"I'm a general handyman," he said. "Self-employed. That was how I met Martha – I did a couple of jobs for her and it went from there. Is there any possibility that Alfie's just with another relation, or something?" His tone was upset. "It seems so unreal that he would have gone missing."

"I'm afraid he is missing," Rossi said. "Whose dog is it you walk, Mrs Moore?"

"One of my neighbours, Mr Kelvin Buchanan's," she gave a watery smile. "Kelvin isn't as mobile as he used to be. He suffers from arthritis, so he can't always take the dog out."

"Martha's great with animals," John Moore said with obvious pride. "Animals and children always seem to adore her. She used to have a dog called Johnnie, believe it or not."

The smile she gave was weaker still, almost forced and JJ wondered what Rossi would be reading into that. "He was a good dog. Sadly he passed away just before I met John. Seemed a bit of a coincidence with the names and all," she said, glancing at the floor.

"Mrs Moore, can you give us some more details on this man you've seen in the park?" Rossi said. JJ was familiar with what he was trying to do. He was suspicious of what the woman had said, not believing her recount of seeing the man when no one else he and Reid had asked had done. The more questions and the rephrasing of them in different ways, interspersed with queries on different topics would show if she was lying or not, one way or the other.

She described him again, adding a little more detail, but without contradicting herself. JJ watched her husband who seemed to be listening with interest. It was strange that he had never seen this man, and definitely a cause for concern. Was Mrs Moore making it up in order to distract suspicion from her husband, or was John Moore simply not that bright?

"Have you ever heard of an Evangeline Dwyer, Amber Livesy or Matthew Horsfield?" Rossi said, acting a little nonchalant.

Mrs Moore shook her head, and JJ found it hard to believe her. She was a teacher; any child that went missing in a close enough area to her would warrant her attention.

"I remember Matthew Horsfield," Mr Moore said. "He was taken a few years ago, wasn't he?"

Rossi nodded, not giving any more details. They would expect the UnSub to know every detail about the discovery of the body; he would have followed it closely. "How about the other names?"

"Evangeline rings a bell now I think about it," Mrs Moore said. She checked her watched. "It's nearly morning recess – I'd really like to get back before lunch and it's nearly an hour's drive away. Are we able to go now?" She seemed a little petulant, almost sulky. "If you give me your details I'll have a real good think about the man in the park and anything odd I've seen. Then I'll let you know."

Rossi stood. They had no right to hold them there so they were free to go whenever they wanted. "That's fine. I'll speak with the officer in charge here and ask them to take you back. We may want to ask you for some more details, if that's okay?"

"That's fine, but make sure you ring first," Mrs Moore said. "My neighbour's been taken into hospital so I may be there in the evenings, or I may be in her house, trying to sort things out for her."

JJ nodded, trying to smile. Something was trying to tell her something. She just couldn't make sense of it yet.

* * *

"Hey," Hotch said as Emily opened her eyes, taking in the light. "How's your head?"

"Throbbing," Emily turned over, not quite feeling up to sitting. He'd brought coffee, by the smell of it, and she found that she was yearning for some.

"Emily," Hotch said, something inside her began to feel unsure. She recognised the tone. Not from him, but from other men. "I'm going to sleep in one of the single rooms for a couple of nights."

"Why?" she said, making herself sit up despite the dizziness.

"You need rest, and I'm going to be up working most of the night," he said, sounding firm.

"Why else?" she maintained her tone as normal, firm, confident, even though those attributes were sinking away from her ship.

"I think we need a little space," he said, not patronising her by pursuing the half lie. "I'm not saying I don't want us to carry on, but I think we need to regain some perspective."

Her heart hit stone. She nodded. It was understandable. She knew he would balk at some point; his behaviour was not unpredictable, but it still hurt. "Okay," she said. "But don't be distant with me."

"I'll try not to," he said, standing up and pulling away from the bed. She realised his cell was vibrating. He had a call. "It's Rossi. I suggest you have a drink, then try get some more rest."

He backed out of the room, leaving her feeling cold underneath the blankets.

* * *

**Please do review!**


	22. Chapter Twenty One

_Thank you to those who are reviewing and reading this. It's been a busy week, and this one promises to be worse. We're appointing a new headteacher at my school this week, which means three days of interviews, and as a governor, I have a role to play on top of my usual duties. I'll hopefully get a chapter up midweek, and that extra I keep promising to those who have reviewed as soon as it is written!_

_This hasn't been beta'd as it's only just been finished, so I apologise for any mistakes. Hi to __**Chiroho**__ – I've been too blooming busy to do anything that resembles fun this week!_

"**Where the Blue of the Night**

"Observe all men, thyself most."

**- Benjamin Franklin**

**Chapter Twenty One**

**November 7****th**

She was in a cellar. It wasn't cold or uncomfortable. There was a gas fire, which did concern her with regards to carbon monoxide poisoning, but it was warm and toasty, and a large settee which was clearly where she was meant to sleep. There was a microwave, sink and fridge, and a separate toilet. It was better than the last time.

Like the last time, she didn't cry. Unlike the last time, she didn't suspect that she was going to be harmed in any way. Her going missing was a punishment for someone, and although logic would imply it was Emily, Sophie doubted that for some reason.

He'd been nice enough when she'd gotten into the car. He'd shown her his badge and recounted a couple of stories about Emily – something to do with falling off step ladders and another about locking herself out of her apartment. Then he'd taken her to his house, bolted the door behind them, and apologised. They'd been no violence, just the threat of a gun, and the inkling that he would use it if pressed.

She'd tried to reason with him, but his plans were made and set in stone – they seemingly had been for some time although she was a recent addition. He had a point to prove, and he would do so. The thing he wanted most had been taken away from him, although Sophie doubted it had ever been his to start with.

She didn't say that, of course. Instead, she listened, trying to learn as much as possible, agreeing with a nod here and there, and keeping her own feelings in check. He said he was a fair person, and she hadn't done anything that warranted punishment. Therefore as long as she helped his cause she would come to no harm.

He'd led her, relaxing his gun, downstairs to the cellar where she'd been left alone. She'd looked around first, finding the fridge well stocked, fresh fruit in plentiful supply. There was a television with no aerial, but a DVD player and stack of movies to watch, plus a bookcase full of classics. Totally different to last time.

Sophie lifted a hand and touched the side of her head that still ached sometimes, a reminder of what had happened in Calverville. She dreamt about it some nights, a constant nightmare, various endings playing before her eyes as her subconscious dealt with the after effects. She'd been reading about the psychology of victims that had survived; how they moved on; if they moved on. She knew she never would completely, and now there was this.

There was a good chance that the message she had left on Agent Rossi's answer phone would be wiped. There was a good chance that no one on the team would know she was missing. Therefore she had to do something, something to make her presence known.

He'd let her keep her luggage, even going as far as pushing it to the top of the stairs for her. Clearly intelligent, yet he'd not though to check the contents of her case, probably assuming it was all clothing. It wasn't. She had her notebook computer in there, and the USB stick that enabled her to use the internet, although the chances of being able to use it were slim.

Somehow though, there would be a way to get in touch with Emily, and get out of there before things escalated.

It had been something she'd been expecting. Garcia, if she ever found out, would be annoyed with him, that he'd done such a thing just after she had been injured, but Hotch knew better than to stick around until the 'right time'. She could smell insincerity like a fart in a car, and besides, she knew this would happen. He needed time to consider what was happening, and her being in his space – when they were sharing such a small amount of space with so many others to start with – was not going to be conducive to that thought process. And there was the small matter with their UnSub being intent on harming them. Or worse.

* * *

Hazy memories were the best she could produce, and there was the chance they would not get any clearer. Focusing on them would, at the moment, provide frustration rather than clarity, so therefore she tried to turn her attention to the information she was now reading through. Kevin was proving to be worth his weight in chocolate, having dug up further information on the missing Jennifer Keeley, the woman initially suspected by Juliet Fletcher and Geoff Thompson for abducting Alfie.

There had still been no news of her; relatives had claimed ignorance of her whereabouts; friends had expected to attend the convention and there had been no activity from her bank account or credit cards. She was technically a missing person, although no one had yet gotten around to filling in the report, a fact that Garcia had found slightly traumatising.

Emily had rung Ms Fletcher, recapping the letters that she had received in the past. She had never had any evidence that they were from Jennifer Keeley, she had simply concluded that they were from her. Then there had been the expected annoyance from Ms Fletcher, an outpouring of emotion as to why they hadn't found her son yet. Emily hadn't tried to stop the words, knowing that such a barrage could only last a few minutes, and it did. Then she had been able to ask question about Geoff Thompson, whom Ms Fletcher had seen nothing of since Agent Rossi had met with him at his cabin.

The conversation didn't solve anything further, but it did make Emily think. Walking slowly, she made her way to the room that Garcia and Kevin had occupied, a constant supply of candy littering the large desks that had been pushed together. She raised her hand to Garcia as she entered, preventing the telling off that was about to be administered before it could begin.

"Geoff Thompson," she said, looking at Kevin, Garcia's lips still poised to speak. "What's he been up to the past few days?"

Kevin nodded, beginning to rapidly type and seach.

"You should still be in bed," Garcia said. "Sugar plum – we need you healthy, we need..."

"Thank you, Garcia," Emily said, surprising herself by how normal she sounded. "Kevin?"

"There's nothing big. He bought gas and food near to where he has his cabin, so it looks like he's still there," Kevin said, looking up from his screen. "There's still no activity on any of Jennifer Keeley's accounts. And I'm no doctor, but she'd be chronically low on her insulin by now."

Emily nodded. They hadn't known until Kevin had done some further searching, but Keeley was diabetic, and dependant on her insulin shots. She'd had two spells in hospital in the past eighteen months when she'd fallen into a diabetic coma, and by now, she would be almost out of her mediation. "I suspect something has happened to her."

"Geoff Thompson?" Kevin said.

"Maybe," Emily frowned as she thought. "We need to send someone to interview him again. Have a look round his property."

Garcia shook her head. "There is, my poppet, no chance of you leaving this place until Wednesday at the soonest, unless it's to go home or to the hospital."

Emily gave a half nod. Garcia was right; she couldn't drive, and the thought of being in a vehicle made her feel nauseous. "I'll go tell Hotch. Thompson's inactivity surprises me though. If he had something to do with it, then why is he still in the middle of nowhere – and what would he have to gain by her disappearance?"

"Nothing," Garcia said. "But people do strange things under moments of intense worry and distress." She looked knowingly at Emily and Emily wondered what Garcia had figured out. She didn't ask, however, instead giving a quick nod, and taking her leave, wanting to hunt down Hotch to see if there was any possibility of sending someone to re-interview Geoff Thompson.

She found him outside, sat wrapped up in a thick coat on an old bench, underneath a tree that had long since shed its leaves.

"You shouldn't be out," he said, his eyes maintaining the warmth she'd seen in them regularly over the past couple of weeks, although his face looked stony.

"I feel okay, and I'm taking things easy," she said, standing in front of him. "There's still no sign of Jennifer Keeley."

"What are you thinking?"

"That it's odd for a woman like her to go missing without a trace."

He sat up a little straighter, which Rossi would have said was almost impossible, and looked at her seriously. "You know, with everything that's happening we're not carrying out this investigation as thoroughly as we would usually do. We should have still been looking for her."

Emily nodded, her head hurting with the action, and she sat down next to her boss. "Geoff Thompson has been inactive for the past few days. He's not left the area around his cabin. Rossi commented on the strangeness of his attitude towards his son when he interviewed him. I wonder if he was trying to appear to distance himself from Alfie."

"So as not to create suspicion as to anything that he may have done – we need to create a timeline of Thompson's movements from the time Ms Fletcher said that Alfie was missing. I'll get Kevin onto it," Hotch said. "Then we'll contact Thompson and send Rossi back out there with one of Boyd's men."

Emily smiled, feeling cold in the chill air.

"You're shivering," Hotch said, standing up. "You need to be taking it easy."

"That's easy to say, Hotch, but if the roles were reversed then you wouldn't be sat in front of bad chat shows doing nothing. We're already down Morgan for the next couple of days at least." She found herself glaring at him. She knew he cared, that couldn't just be switched off like a light before bed, but it hurt that he was removing himself from her, and that pain was only just starting to kick in.

"No, you're right. And if you want something to keep you occupied then I have a pile of files that need a second person to look through," he said, his tone conceding something other than defeat.

"I'll go sit in the lounge," she said. "If you could bring the files to me there, that would be great."

He nodded, walking off and leaving her in the cold.

* * *

Reid looked out of the window onto the parking lot for the officers that were based at the station. There were several police vehicles, all clearly marked, and some that were not, but still obviously police cars to the trained eye. Mr and Mrs Moore were being led out to an unmarked vehicle, his arm around her waist, every sign of solidarity present.

"It's not him," Reid said, turning his stare to Rossi. "There was no hint of a lie in anything he said. Had he been the UnSub I would have expected him to have said less about knowing Alfie Fletcher, to have been more evasive, but he was anything but."

"You don't think it's some clever cover up?" JJ said, still looking at the Moores as they got into the vehicle assigned to take them back home.

"I don't see how it can be. There would have been some sign, some recollection of the other children..."

"He's not the link; she is," Rossi said, interrupting. "They've only just married, according to what Kevin found out. And he only moved to the area five years previously – after the abductions of the first two kids."

"If you think it could be Martha Moore who's the UnSub, then we've got the profile all wrong," Reid said. "We were looking for a predatory paedophile. Female paedophiles are almost non-existent."

"We made an assumption based on a lack of evidence and knowledge. There have never been any signs of sexual abuse on the remains because decomposition was too far advanced. We followed the correct process, Reid, but sometimes there's an anomaly that could never have been predicted," Rossi said, looking unsurprised. "Reid, you and JJ go to Martha Moore's school. Interview her colleagues under the pretence of finding out general information. I'll stay here and speak with the next John. I'll keep Hotch informed."

* * *

"I'm just going to check on Dorothy's house before I go back to school," Martha said as they watched the police officer drive off. John nodded, giving her a weak smile. She knew the trip to the police station had worried him. He didn't like things like that. Maybe she should encourage him to go fishing for an afternoon or something to calm him down and get things in perspective.

"Sure," he said as the door opened. She walked off to her neighbour's feeling just a little jittery. John hadn't asked her why she was carrying the two lunchboxes still. He hadn't noticed. In fact, he didn't notice much. Not like her.

She noticed everything.

* * *

_Please review – I need them to keep me going at the moment!_

_Sarah x_


	23. Chapter Twenty Two

_Hola! It's been a while! Between work and a short sojourn to Portugal and then several crises at work I have not had the time to write anything considered semi decent. Not even sure this is any good, but I felt I'd left it long enough. I am hoping to get into a routine of updating frequently again. The story is now all planned out – expect it to be 40/41 chapters long- and I will try to update next on Wednesday, that's if there is still enough interest in the story to warrant me pursuing it! I'm aware that readers may have forgotten about it!_

_Here's hoping you still like it!_

_No beta, as putting this chapter up pretty much as soon as I've finished it, so all mistakes as well and truly mine. Do let me know that you still want this story to be continued..._

_Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing. I am aware that I promised an extra chapter, and one will be coming very soon as the plot bunny has just bitten... it will be something based on the crossover ep with the new team as that episode aired in Britain last week._

"**Where the Blue of the Night**

"It's similar to the way you feel cuddling an infant or a kitten, when you want to squeeze it so hard you'd kill it..."

**- Zoe Heller**

**Chapter Twenty Two**

**November 7****th**

It was lunchtime when JJ and Reid arrived at the school, a mass of children playing out in the yard wrapped up in thick coats and scarves. A few flakes of snow had started to slowly fall, causing much excitement and glee; contagious laughter rippling through the crowds making the faces of the teachers on duty look even more sullen in comparison.

The man who came to the gates to let them in was clearly the principal. It wasn't so much his suit or his age or stature, but the grim apprehension that sat in his eyes. He sighed as he unlocked the gates, nodding at their badges as he let them into the school premises, their identity proven. "It's lunchtime for another half hour," he said. "I've let staff know that you're here and you may want to speak with them, but I didn't say with regards what, mainly because I'm not really sure myself." He looked at them again, a challenge written in his expression.

"We'll explain as much as we can when we are somewhere more private," JJ said, following him into the school building, Reid's frown catching her eye. They'd decided on an approach that would give away as little information as possible, and to try and get information about the Moores without drawing suspicion on Martha. Any suggestion that she had been involved with the disappearance of a child could be enough to ruin her career, even if she'd had nothing to do with Alfie Fletcher's disappearance.

The principal took them into his office; a small but neat room littered with the drawings and stories that the children he oversaw had given to him. He sat behind his desk, and invited them with a gesture to take the two seats facing him. "I have to ask immediately – is there any reason why I should not allow Martha Moore back onto these premises once she has returned from her lunch?" he said, his fingers automatically picking up a pen and tapping it lightly.

JJ shook her head. "We have no proof that Mrs Moore has been involved in anything suspicious." The words had already been chosen carefully.

The principal nodded. "Then what can I do for you?"

He seemed more comfortable now some reassurance had been had been given. "We're looking for some background information on Martha Moore," Reid said. "Just general details."

"Can I ask why?" the principal said. "This isn't routine – there must be reason behind it."

"We can't divulge any further details, I'm afraid," JJ said, watching for the principal's reaction.

He looked concerned for a moment, clearly thinking before speaking. "I'll try and help you as best I can," he said. "All I can give you is the truth."

"That's all we're in need of, sir," Reid said. "Mrs Moore has worked here for how long?"

JJ saw Reid frown. She knew that Reid had the details imprinted on his brain, but this was a good way to gauge the principal's baseline for telling the truth.

"Fifteen years," he said. "Before I started here. When my predecessor left she told me of Martha's dedication to the job. Part of it she put down to her inability to have children herself – something nasty happened in her past, I believe – and the rest is sheer devotion to the children she teaches. If all of my teachers could be like Martha I would be out of a job." He gave them a smile that suggested this would be a good situation.

JJ smiled back, if a little weakly.

"When did she meet her husband?" Reid said, taking control of the questioning like they had agreed.

"About eighteen months ago – maybe a little more. I was surprised. I thought Martha was destined to be Mrs Johnston, divorcee for eternity. When she announced she was remarrying I was completely taken aback, as was most of the staff room." The principal sat back. "When she married John she had the school choir sing at the church and one of her ex-pupils gave a reading. I can't believe she would be mixed up in anything illegal." He shook his head.

"We don't know yet if she is," JJ said. "We need you to treat her no differently than what you would do normally. If there is any reason to believe she is putting people in danger at your school we will be here immediately. But for now, we just need to know as much as possible about her." The principal seemed a reasonable man. He gave JJ a look that told he felt uncomfortable doing this, but would anyway as he would never not help the authorities.

He swallowed, looking from JJ to Reid. "She's always been _different_," he said. "Never socialised like the rest of the staff and she came across as being a bit prim and prudish. Her husband left her for another man some fifteen or sixteen years ago – they hadn't been married long – and according to my secretary, who's been here since the school was built, she never accepted what he'd done and refused to speak of it.

"Martha has always been excellent with the children, although I have had complaints in the past from the parents about her tendency to judge them. She's made comments at parents' evenings about marital situations, or non-attendance at church and on two occasions I've had to speak with her, both in the past twelve months," the principal stopped speaking and sat quietly, waiting for one of them to speak. JJ left it to Reid, who was looking thoughtful, his hair tucked behind his ears and sticking out slightly.

"What did you think of her new husband?" Reid said. JJ was surprised he didn't pursue the complaints that had been made.

The principal shrugged. "I haven't really gotten to know him. He seems a nice enough guy, and dotes on Martha. Someone mentioned that he'd come out of a bad marriage where his wife had been abusive towards him. I imagine that Martha's goodness and maybe her old fashioned ways attracted him."

"Was there much of a courtship?" Reid said, unsurprisingly choosing an outdated word.

"Not that I know of, but I suppose Martha wouldn't be the type to go discussing her affairs." A bell sounded loudly, making JJ jump a little. The principal sat up a little straighter and inhaled deeply. "And that is the alarm for me to go. DO you need to speak with anyone else? If so, I'll have to arrange someone to look after classes if you wish to talk to one of Martha's teacher colleagues."

Reid stood up, looking gangly and thin next to the principal. "I think it may be best if we take details for the person who has known her the longest and visit them after school," he said.

The principal nodded, looking relieved. "I'll have my secretary sort that for you," he said, a knock at the door punctuating his sentence and a small boy anxiously stepped into the room.

JJ caught sight of Martha Moore as they left the building, having gone through the procedures of signing out. It was still a cold day, yet the sky was cloudless, but she doubted that the shiver that ran through her had anything to do with the temperature.

* * *

Rossi found his way to Geoff Thompson's cabin much more easily the second time round, taking the corners at a speed his companion was not used to. He didn't care too much for traffic laws, knowing that he was more than competent driving a vehicle and time was of the essence. Agent Llewellyn however, looked a little car sick, at which Rossi had advised him to open a window and stick his head outside, taking note of the direction of the wind. The agent was from Boyd's team, an extra addition made privy to the goings on, and had so far not shown himself to be of any particular worth other than a minder of sorts. Rossi had quit trying to get him up to date on the cases after thirty minutes of non-committal responses and longing gazes out of the window. He figured there was a new girl on the scene and Llewellyn was engrossed in replaying the previous night's action. Either that, or he had some form of serious mental deficiency.

"His car's on the driveway," Rossi said, aware that his words were probably falling on deaf ears. "I wouldn't be sure that it had moved since I was last here." It felt like a life time ago since his previous conversation with Thompson, a time when Rossi felt he should have paid more attention to his instincts than he had done.

"Are we just going to go straight in there?" Llewellyn said, his feature now at their most animated. "You know, do you want to look around or anything first?"

Rossi made a mental note to speak with Boyd about the quality of the agents he was taking into his team. "If we park up around here, we can take a look round. I never had the chance before." He pulled over into a lay by, giving Llewellyn a brief glance. He was beginning to seem a little more alert.

"So what is this place? What's the terrain like?" Llewellyn said, getting out of the vehicle.

Rossi shrugged. "Just your typical rich man's holiday lodge, I guess. Somewhere to come for a few beers, and a spot of fishing, maybe hunting in the right season. Shall we?" he gestured towards the cabin in the distance, thinking momentarily of Agent Mansfield's cabin and how he should have been there right now.

"If we walk along the side of the water, we should be able to get a good view of the forestry and the surrounding area," Llewellyn said, looking about him. "I grew up in a place like this. Part of the reason Boydy recruited me for his team; my background was different."

"Oh," Rossi said. "So there was a particular reason." He tried to keep the sarcasm out of his tone, but didn't think he'd succeeded very well.

Llewellyn nodded. "That, and I'm a mean shot, both distance and close range." It was said with no conceit, plain, matter of fact. Rossi wondered if a diagnosis of autism had ever been made.

They began to walk around the side of the lake, leaves piling at the sides, bobbing up and down tirelessly. Two rowing boats were tied up to a jetty, a soft creaking audible through the gentle silence. Rossi stood still for a moment, causing Llewellyn to pause too, although he seemed unperturbed by the rest. "You hear that?" Rossi said, keeping his voice low.

Llewellyn nodded. "Quiet," he said. "No sound of traffic, no other house. The guy must own a couple of hundred acres of land round here if he's managed to stop any other building from shooting up round here. This lake would be perfect for fishing." He stepped closer to the water, tall reeds that were now dying off bent over like soldiers in a gas attack at the sides. "Guess this lake would be perfect for a lot of things."

Rossi stepped towards him as Llewellyn looked up, his eyebrows raised, the eyes having the look of someone who had seen this before.

"I guess this lake is just about as perfect as it can be for a lot of things."

Rossi took out his cell. The afternoon was going to require a lot of a fast talking. If they could get cell phone reception.

She tried again, but it didn't work. There was no way she could connect to the internet. He had a wireless network, of course, but it was password protected, and she had no way of hacking into it.

Sophie closed the laptop, the click signifying the end to a frustrating few hours. He'd not been near her since taking her down into the basement, which looked as if it had been designed to be a suite of rooms for a lodger. She'd tried to get out, of course, but there was no way he would be as stupid to leave a door unlocked. There was food, a bathroom, hot water, lots of books and a play station with some retro games. The bed linen was clean and the rooms had been heated well enough to make sure she was comfortable. The kitchenette had a microwave and a stove, plus a selection of tins and food in the fridge that was all in date. She'd pretty quickly come to the conclusion that she was going to be looked after. And he'd not seemed aggressive when he'd explained that he didn't want to harm her, but she was a way of getting back at the team, the BAU, for what they had done to him. How they had collectively ruined his future.

The blankets now wrapped around her were warm and snug, and Sophie could feel herself falling to sleep. She knew he'd be back at some point to check on her, to make sure she was still there, but her instincts told her that was all his visit would be for.

She wasn't his type, she knew. He'd already explained all that. To be his type she had to be blonde and blue eyed, like in the song he'd sang; "_When the blue of the night meets the gold of the day, someone waits for me. And the gold of her hair crowns the blue of her eyes, like a halo, tenderly..." _And she was none of those things. But Jennifer Jareau was. And as far as Sophie could make out, she had no idea she had such a fan.

No idea at all.


	24. Chapter Twenty Three

_A little later than Wednesday, but hey, better slightly late than very late! Thank you to those who reviewed – feel free to go back and drop a review for the previous chapter if you haven't done so :)_

_I feel very rusty writing again after nearly a month's break – hopefully it'll get easier!_

_Thanks to the reviewers, __**notafirsttimereviewer**__ and __**Kim**__ included, and to __**Chiroho**__ for the beta for this chapter. I'll aim for Sunday for the next chapter._

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"There is no such thing as a weird human being, It's just that some people require more understanding than others."

**- Tom Robbins**

**Chapter Twenty Three**

**November 7****th**

It would be another forty five minutes before anyone else could be out there. Even the locals – who weren't actually that local – were too far away to provide any assistance that would be useful, so Rossi was left to think on his feet. He could assume that Thompson was aware of their arrival, a least it would be safest to, and therefore he and Agent Llewellyn would have to play innocent as to what they had just found.

Thompson opened the door looking significantly worse for wear. His hair was dishevelled, and he appeared to not have shaved for several days. There was an aroma about him that told of a strange dance with a bottle of bourbon, and Rossi doubted that he was sober at that moment.

He was going to have to buy time. Back up was needed before they could even think of arresting him, and that body in the lake would be going nowhere fast, being too caught up in the reeds. "Mr Thompson," Rossi said. "May we come in?"

Thompson hung onto the door and looked at them with untrusting eyes. "Why are you here? You found Alfie?"

Rossi shook his head. "No. We haven't found your son."

"Then what the fuck are you doing here? You should be out there looking for him." The words were predictable, and Rossi imagined that should he ever be in that position, he would probably say the same thing.

"We have several leads to follow at the moment, Mr Thompson, and one of them is the disappearance of Mrs Jennifer Keeley," Rossi said. "I'd much prefer to discuss this inside." He knew he needed to be able to contain Thompson; to try to settle him down and disperse some of the agitation that was clearly built up within him.

Thompson's eyes flickered towards the lake. "What makes you think Mrs Jennifer Keeley has disappeared?" he said, the name emphasised, almost sarcastically. "She's probably hiding somewhere with my son, hoping to spite his mother."

It was the first time Rossi had heard Thompson refer to Alfie as his son, and it told him more about the state of his relationship than anything that had been said previously. "We need to discuss that, Mr Thompson," Rossi said. "And I'd rather do it over a coffee, somewhere warm, if that's okay?" He heard Llewellyn's phone ring, and the other agent moved away to answer it, hushed tones inaudible against the rattling remainders of leaves blowing in the wind.

"Come in then," Thompson said, finally pushing the door away from him, allowing Rossi to catch it open and enter the cabin.

It was untidy inside, the signs of a fight with inner demons apparent in the detritus that had been left lying about. Rossi found himself sympathising with Thompson, understanding what had driven him this far. He walked slowly into the kitchen, Thompson following him while Llewellyn was still on his phone outside. Thompson appeared to be unarmed, although Rossi had noticed a handgun near the door. A passing thought of an easy way out, maybe.

Thompson leaned against a tall cupboard, his eyes half closed. A glimmer of sunlight fell through the window onto his face, causing him to squint, lines deepening around his eyes.

"Shall I make some coffee?" Rossi said.

Thompson watched him, shrugging. He said nothing as Rossi used the pot to pour water into the tank on the back of the coffeemaker and began to open cupboards, finding the coffee and cups in the most predictable of places. He heard Llewellyn's footsteps as he came through to the kitchen, casting Rossi a knowing glance before sitting on one of the breakfast stools. "This is Agent Llewellyn," Rossi said, gesturing to make sure Thompson understood. "He's assisting with the investigation. I don't know if Ms Fletcher told you, but we had to call in agents from outside the BAU as there have been so many possible leads in this case."

"And yet you have no idea where Alfie is?" Thompson's tone was flat, as if he had accepted what the outcome would be already.

Rossi shook his head. "The delay in contacting us has not helped matters," Rossi said. "And the disappearance of Mrs Keeley." He looked at Thompson, not stopping his eyes from telling what he knew.

Thompson looked away, a hand rubbing at the messy stubble.

"How do you take your coffee?" Rossi said, the aroma filling the air, taking away some of the staleness of the room.

"Black. One sugar," Thompson said. His posture told of a battle that had been lost. Rossi was now sure that Thompson posed no threat to him or Llewellyn; there was no fight left, just resignation as to what was about to happen.

"They said fifteen minutes," Llewellyn said. "The call –"

Rossi nodded, pouring the coffee. "Time for a drink then. What's the fishing like here?"

"Good," Thompson said. "Part of the reason I bought the place."

"Is the lake deep?" Rossi said, his weapon burning his side. He wasn't intending on antagonising Thompson, but instead developing a scenario where he could take the man's confession.

"Deep enough," Thompson said, ignoring the coffee that Rossi held out to him.

Rossi put it down on the counter. "You've met Jennifer Keeley before?"

Thompson shrugged. "I guess I saw her once or twice, outside Juliet's. She was always around."

"What made you so adamant that she took Alfie?" Rossi said, noticing Llewellyn glancing out of the window.

"She seemed like the obvious person." Thompson looked at the floor.

"We've searched every property she has any connection with, and have found no suggestion of Alfie having ever been there, or anything to say she might have been planning to take him," Rossi said. "It's highly unlikely that Mrs Keeley had anything to do with your son's abduction."

There was a silence that hung in the room like a dense fog.

"Why are you here?" Thompson said, eventually breaking the quiet as Rossi knew he would.

"We're investigating the disappearance of Jennifer Keeley," Rossi said, waiting for the tirade about not doing enough for the missing child.

Thompson didn't respond. Instead he took the coffee and began to drink it slowly.

"It's an investigation we'll be able to close as soon as her body has been identified," Rossi said.

Thompson was emotionless. He wasn't going to offer an explanation, or confession, and Rossi had no doubt that in the time that it took to remove the body from the lake Thompson would have lawyered up.

"You must have known we'd come looking here," Rossi said.

"I expected you sooner," Thompson looked out of the window, towards the dense forestry. "And I expected you to have found Alfie."

"Maybe we would have already, if we hadn't had to waste our time." The sound of sirens hollered in the distance, reverberating around an empty shell of a man, and another place that would never be the same.

* * *

"You okay?"

Emily turned around to see JJ unzipping the thick coat she had been wearing.

"You feeling any better?"

Emily nodded, not sure if she was lying or not. "I'd rather be out there doing something useful, instead of stuck in here going through paperwork."

JJ moved around the furniture and Emily's stack of files and sat down in one of the chairs. "Has Hotch been checking on you?"

"A fair bit," she said, truthfully. It felt awkward; every time he had come into the room her head had began to thump and she'd felt remarkably like the fourteen year old girl she thought she'd outgrown decades ago.

JJ gave her a puzzled look before recounting what had happened that morning. Emily knew she wouldn't be able to hide what had happened for too long, although she knew that JJ would be empathetic enough to wait for Emily to say something before diving in for the not so juicy details.

"I heard a few minutes ago that Geoff Thompson has been arrested for the murder of Jennifer Keeley," JJ said. "Rossi's on his way back now – I think he wants us to go over the details again, looking at Martha Moore as the UnSub."

Emily focused her mind on what she had been reading that morning. She had been skipping between the two cases; looking through the files Hotch had passed to her containing details of Bureau employees ,and glancing at information Kevin had been sending out via the secure intranet he and Garcia had set up in record time.

"She's had a strange past," Emily said, hoping that discussing the case would stop JJ from picking up on her mood. "She moved between her mother and grandmother as a child, while her mother toured in various dance troupes around the country, even going to Paris at one point."

"Not your average childhood," JJ said. "But then who has one these days?"

Emily nodded, looking away , scared that JJ would be able to read the thoughts behind her eyes. "Morgan's improving. The doctors think he be discharged tomorrow."

"How did we get that information?"

"Strauss. She figured it'd be safer for her to call the hospital."

There was a silence during which Emily felt as if she was under as much scrutiny as she had been at the age of fifteen.

"You want to tell me what's eating you?" JJ said. "Is it Hotch?"

Emily nodded slowly. There was no point in denying it. "He said he wasn't sure. That he needed to work things out. He's sleeping in one of the other bedrooms."

"But this was something you expected, right?"

JJ was right; she had expected it. It had always been there; the possibility that he would have to move backwards and away from her, like the outgoing tide, carrying her heart along with the rest of the driftwood. "Yes," Emily said. "I guess it was inevitable."

"But he hasn't said it's over, has he?"

"No, just – the space thing." She'd heard it before; a common brush off.

"Then that's what he means," JJ said. "He's not your average guy, Emily. You being hurt got to him. You have a job where you put your life at risk each day. Hotch has got to know how to deal with that if you are more than just a colleague."

"I know." The front door creaked, an unwitting notification that someone had just entered, and their conversation ceased.

"We'll talk more about this later," JJ said, standing. "I'm going to go check on Henry before we're all summoned."

Emily forced a smile, pushing herself out of the doldrums and back into the coping mode she had utilised so many times before. There was work to do, work that left no time for self-pity.

* * *

The rows of children were neatly ordered, the desks equally spaced, each containing only the necessary equipment. Nothing to fiddle with, nothing to be distracted by. God only knew that children were over stimulated these days with all the action on TV and computer games. They didn't know how to be bored, and so make up their own games, thus never developing an imagination.

And that included Alfie.

He had never once given any sign of being able to create, and it was a crying shame. Still, a little time alone ought to help.

She'd taken him lunch, neatly packed in the new lunch box she'd bought. It was a healthy meal and he'd seemed appreciative of it, eating it greedily, even though it had contained carrot sticks and hummus, things she doubted he'd ever tried before. He'd looked pale, and tired, and she could tell he'd been crying. To no avail of course. There was no one there to hear. Especially as her neighbour was now in hospital.

Martha Moore looked at the neat line of children, their faces covered with their lunches, their hair mussed from playing outside, and she swallowed a moment of disgruntlement. Somebody should clean them up. Somebody should look after them properly. Only that wasn't her job.

She wasn't their mother.


	25. Chapter Twenty Four

_Just about getting this chapter up on Sunday! It's not been beta'd as I'm too unorganised to have got this to Chiroho quick enough, so there will be bags of errors no doubt! However, this chapter flowed a lot more freely than the previous two – something to do with writing Hotch I think!_

_Thank you for the reviews – please keep them coming and I'm sorry I've not done individual replies this time. The weekend's gone a little fast again._

_However, I will endeavour to get another chapter up on Tuesday or Wednesday and then Friday._

_Don't forget to get behind Paget Brewster and A.J. Cook in light of the recent CBS news. Twitter is a good place to be to help!_

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"The landscape belongs to the person who looks at it."

**- Ralph Waldo Emerson**

**Chapter Twenty Four**

**November 7****th**

The sweet light of dusk can illuminate a pink foxglove in such a way that beauty is summed up in one glance. A glint of light seeps through a gap in the fence from the setting sun, catching delicate petals painted a hue that no artist could ever muster. But next to that beauty is a shadow, where something unthinkable lies. How can such darkness be found next to something so perfect?

There was no sound from downstairs, his mother having soundproofed the room several years before he left the house in order for them to have more privacy. Sophie was quite comfortable down there, he was sure of that, and that made him feel a little less guilty about what he had done to her. She wasn't to blame for any of this, and if the people who supposedly had her best interests at heart did what they should, she would come to no harm.

He rocked backwards and forwards on the chair, looking out over the garden. It was a beautiful evening; the sky was clear, streaks of red across the navy blue in the distance. _Red sky at night_, his mother had used to say, _shepherds' delight_.

A bird called; the sound low and clear across the trees. He could just about make it out, sat on top of the outhouse that used to be used as an ice house, its cellars deep and stony. The perfect place.

The perfect place.

He took out his laptop and switched it on, the warmth of a chiminea and his thick jacket enough fight off the chill of the night. He needed to communicate with the team, to warn them of the consequences of their action, of what stopping him from becoming one of them had resulted in. Of what it had cost.

Dusk's final encore dimmed; the memories of a summer foxglove no more.

* * *

The car was cold inside now the engine had stopped running. Agent Boyd had killed the noise about an hour ago, opening his flask of coffee and using that to keep him warm instead. He knew this was futile; common sense told him to tell Aaron Hotchner of his suspicions, but he had a feeling he'd be shot down, dismissed with a 'we'll look into it' and then sent to keep an eye on someone else instead. When he should be here.

He shivered, checking the time on his watch. It was nearly eleven and he should have been back at the safe house, playing crib or poker with the rest of his team that had been seconded. They'd kept a certain distance from the profilers, needing that space in a situation that was more intense that what they'd been used to. None of them knew, neither his team nor Hotch's, where he was right now. They thought he was meeting with Agent Cavendish who had been assigned to Strauss as extra protection, and Cavendish thought he was somewhere else entirely.

It didn't matter. He was safe, as the weapon itching at his waste told him. And besides, the man responsible for all this was currently sat in his study, visible at the window as he sat at his desk with the curtains wide open.

Boyd rubbed his hands together, trying to relieve the numbness that had seeped into his fingers since the flask of coffee had been drained, but there was no warmth to be found. He heard a coyote calling across the silence that had become eerie some time ago, and wondered if he should call it a night. It was at least an hour's drive back to the safe house and tiredness was beginning to creep it now the adrenaline had worn off.

His man wasn't going anywhere tonight. He was probably planning his next move, writing some sick note that would fill another one of his colleagues – Hotch's colleagues – with fear. Boyd figured he could set of now, quietly start the car's engine, and drive to the hospital where Morgan was and look in on him. Then his lengthened absence would have a reason.

His gun twitched in its holster. It would be so easy, so easy, just to knock on the door and enter, accept a coffee in the same way as the night when Mansfield had died, then pull that trigger. But the agent inside him wasn't a murderer yet, and instead of getting out of the car, Boyd started the engine, pulling himself away with difficulty.

* * *

She went back a few hours later to make sure that the boy was okay. He was, sat huddled in the duvet she had bought new for him. It wasn't cold inside the house, and as she wasn't paying for the heating she'd made sure it was pleasant enough in the bedroom. He had a bathroom and a lavatory, and she'd left him some snacks so he wouldn't be hungry if she hadn't been able to get back before morning.

"What is the matter, Alfie?" she said, sitting on the bed next to him.

He pulled away, which made her anxious. Previously, by this stage, they'd gotten over their fear and started to realise that she was only going to look after them, to feed them and care for them, but he'd stayed distant and sullen.

"I want mommy," he said, his thumb hovering at the edge of his mouth.

She moved his hand away gently. "You shouldn't suck your thumb, baby. It puts dirt in your mouth. And I've told you before, you're mommy's not a good woman. You didn't even know who your daddy was."

He looked at her wide eyed, and she wondered how much he understood. She knew that children of this age could be coaxed round easily, that they could forget about their previous life and fall into their new one. She hoped Alfie would begin to develop this soon and then they could leave together and start a new life elsewhere. There was a chance this time that she wouldn't have to end things. She had money saved up, money that was hers alone and no one else's. They could go away together, Canada maybe, and be happy.

Happy.

That was all she wanted.

To be happy.

"Do you want me to tell you a story, Alfie?" Martha said, pulling her legs up onto the bed.

Alfie nodded, his thumb in his mouth despite all that she had said.

"That's good, because I know loads of good stories. You like stories about princesses?"

He shook his head.

"What about adventures?"

Alfie nodded, his eye lids looking heavy. She glanced at the drink she'd brought him and saw that it was all gone. There had been a sedative it in, a mild one, one that would just help him sleep, and that would help to keep him docile.

"Okay. Let's see. I know one all about this little boy. And do you know what his name was?"

Alfie shook his head.

"His name was Matthew..."

* * *

The trees were thick enough to shield any light from his window and the blackout curtains would have been pointless if that was the only purpose they served. Hotch pulled one back and looked out over the scenery that would have been beautiful if the circumstances had been different, and tonight, more than just the case marred his view.

They'd sat down, eaten, drank some of the wine they'd found in the cellar, then gone through the Alfie Fletcher case. Every single detail had been unturned again and again. They'd been right to make the assumption that the UnSub had been a predatory paedophile, every one of the signs pointed that way and it would have taken a psychic to have said otherwise.

But a lucky break through doing some old fashioned leg work had pointed them in the direction of the Moores, and now it looked as if they were onto something. A pair of officers had been place outside the Moores' house to monitor their movements, although Hotch doubted Martha would think they were onto her. Rossi suspected she was narcissistic; over confident to the extreme that she thought she could get away with anything and Hotch agreed.

Then Kevin had come up with more information, details about Martha Moore's finances each time a child had gone missing. She'd stocked up on food, big bills from Wal-Mart suggesting she'd been buying things other than food. Bigger fuel bills. It all suggested she'd been keeping the child in her home, which would have been possible, given she wasn't married then.

But now she was, and either her husband was complicit, or she had somewhere else she was using.

Hotch closed the curtains, satisfied that only the night time creatures and the trees were outside. He sat on the single bed, having chosen the room knowing a double would have been too much space, and allowed himself a moment to think of Emily.

She had been sat across the table from him, engaging in the discussion with her usual vivacity and vim, her eyes having regained the sparkle she'd lost after the incident with the UnSub in the car. He'd felt something in him give, snap like an elastic band, when she'd caught his eye and he'd looked away.

But right now, at this moment, he couldn't deal with what he felt. She wasn't to be packaged in cotton wool, wrapped away in bubble wrap like a porcelain doll. She was tough and a fighter, not a stay at home wife or girlfriend or mother. Not that he wanted that. It was her fiery independence he admired. The brashness and honesty with which she'd first come into his office had been a memory frozen in his mind, revisited a million times when he'd tried to work out why she'd annoyed him so much at first. It hadn't been her, as such, more the situation, the lack of control in selecting her.

Now he'd selected her for a different reason, and the thing he'd most feared had crept out of the shadows. How could he deal with losing her? The only solution right now was to push her away, so he had control. Anything to keep control.

A knock sounded at his door and he felt his heart skip a beat as it jumped into his throat. Hoping it would be Emily he opened his door, knowing his expression had turned cold when he saw Reid stood there, wearing striped pyjamas that would have reminded most people of concentration camps.

"I know," Reid said. "But there was nothing else that was clean when I packed."

Hotch stood back, letting Reid come into the room. Reid headed for the window and pulled back the curtains.

"Why are you here at this time?" Hotch said. "Is something the matter?"

Reid shook his head, still looking out of the window. "I just thought I'd see how you were."

Hotch said nothing, letting the silence force Reid to explain what he meant.

Reid didn't look at him, the curtain half hiding his head. "You're being distant, you're sleeping alone and you drank three glasses of wine when you usually call it quits after two."

"I don't think this is any of your business, Reid," Hotch said. His tone was cold, and it shouldn't have been he knew. But he didn't want to have this conversation, not now, not with Reid.

"You're right. It's not," Reid turned to look at him. "But I'm glad that you're not lying to me and telling me that everything's okay."

"I don't like to lie," Hotch said.

Reid moved away from the window. "I know. I get what you're doing and why, and I don't think you're wrong."

Hotch felt surprised for a moment, and looked at Reid directly. "Why?"

"Because to go forth with something without consideration is foolish, and you've never been a foolish man," Reid said, opening the door.

Hotch gave a brief nod, and the door closed.

Night time comes in many shades. For some, it is a tapestry of passion, the threads weaving through a myriad of events that contain love in all its forms. For others, it is a time of the dead, when the absence of light and sound saturates hope, leaving an emotionless desert. The night creeps by, the shards of light coming from within, highlighting foxgloves. _Digitalis_; a plant common to Europe, Asia and Africa, that is as poisonous as it is beautiful.


	26. Chapter Twenty Five

_Thank you for reviewing the last chapter – your comments keep me writing! I find it much easier to write in the winter as I'm not tempted to sit outside in the garden, so I do need that extra encouragement._

_I'm away at a wedding in one of the most English of English villages – Marlow – this weekend, so there may or not may not be an update on Sunday. I will try to post something on Friday, even if it's just a1000 word chapter, as I'm trying to update frequently._

_Thank you to __**Chiroho**__ for the beta!_

_If you haven't heard, CBS are cancelling A.J. Cook's (JJ) contract, and she'll be appearing in just one episode next season and then exiting the show. They are also intending to 'significantly reduce' the number of episodes Paget Brewster will be in. A petition is on the internet, and currently has around 40,000 signatures; if you want to keep these actresses and characters on Criminal Minds, please do sign it at world wide web dot _

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"They flee from me, that sometime did me seek,

With naked foot, stalking in my chamber.

I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek,

That now are wild, and do not remember

That sometime they put themselves in danger

To take bread at my hand; and now they range,

Busily seeking with a continual change."

**- Sir Thomas Wyatt**

**Chapter Twenty Five**

_**Five years previously**_

_He watched as she came into work for the first time, her hair a strange shade of purple with streaks of peroxide. He didn't understand why Agent Hotchner and Agent Gideon had agreed to allow someone like her on their team, especially when someone said that she'd been recruited because she'd been hacking into systems that she shouldn't have been able to access at all. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair._

_It was three months since he'd applied for the post of working with the BAU as their technical analyst. He was more than qualified for the role, and very flexible as he'd already proved in his current department. But he'd been passed over for it; Hotchner explaining that he hadn't demonstrated the skills they needed, but he'd failed to say exactly what those skills were._

_And now they'd recruited someone like her: Penelope Garcia. The name sounded wrong, didn't sound professional enough, or precise enough; and looking at her, he could see that she wasn't professional or precise, shooting a big grin at Derek Morgan._

_JJ seemed to like her though, and that made him think that this Garcia was okay, possibly. Of course, JJ was probably too kind to see how unsuitable she was for the team, how she'd end up causing them problems. No doubt those problems would be covered up, else Hotchner's job could end up being on the line._

"_Hey," he turned and looked at the object of his annoyance. "I'm Penelope Garcia. I hear you're the resident computer genius. It's nice to meet you." She was offering a hand._

_He ignored it, giving her a smile that he knew looked fake. "Hi, Penelope. It's nice to meet you. Give me a shout if you need any help with the systems, but I'm sure you'll be okay given your experience." He let his tone cut sharply._

_She looked hurt, and he felt enjoyment at the small victory. "Thanks, Dan. I'll see you around." _

_He watched her walk away, her rather large backside looking hideous in the pink skirt, and he wondered whether the job he wanted would be up for grabs again in a few more weeks._

**November 8****th**

Rossi hadn't slept much. He'd returned to the safe house later than he'd expected, coming in half way through the meeting. Once it had ended, he'd rustled up something that resembled food and found a quiet spot away from the melee to puzzle over his thoughts. They'd been varied, wavering between the disappearance of Alfie and the murder of Jennifer Keeley.

Geoff Thompson had lawyered up immediately, which had been no surprise, and after the initial declaration of innocence, he'd shut down any form of communication. Rossi had then headed to see Juliet Fletcher, who was seated in her garden with Janine. She'd shown no surprise at what Rossi had told her, that her lover was suspected of murdering Jennifer Keeley, but neither had she said anything.

It had been an uncomfortable half hour, sitting there trying to gain information, and he'd learnt more than what Ms Fletcher had given away. The delay in reporting the abduction to the police had not been because of the threat to Thompson's career or marriage, but because he'd already acted on his gut instinct - that Jennifer Keeley was responsible. They needed more evidence, but it had now been handed over to the local PD, and the investigation would be their responsibility, as Rossi had informed Ms. Fletcher.

Morning hadn't broken well. It was raining, a cold hard rain that fell heavy against the windows and would make sitting in a car feel like being in a tin can. The journey ahead of them was a fairly long one, an hour or more depending on traffic and necessary precautions to avoid being followed. The need for privacy had gone with the body being discovered in Thompson's lake, and they were to brief the local police on the case so far.

Strauss had been against it when Hotch had spoken to her the night before. She was concerned with their safety, and suggested that information was given via a video link instead, and only one or two of them did the talking, provided contact. He could see where she was coming from. The media interest would begin, their profiles would be raised, and then their own UnSub would know they hadn't disappeared off the grid.

It was that which concerned Rossi. He couldn't decide whether it was a good thing to seen again by the UnSub or not. Something told him they needed to find a way to flush him out of the woodwork, to take that risk, otherwise they could spend the rest of their lives cooped up like this.

Footsteps hurriedly made their way into kitchen where Rossi was sitting, half way through a his second cup of coffee. Hotch looked pale, even slightly grey, when he entered, his eyes dry through lack of sleep.

"What happened?" Rossi said, standing up.

"There's been a letter sent to Prentiss, delivered in the early hours of the morning. It has to have been a Bureau employee who delivered it, as it was left on her desk around the time the security cameras went down when someone hacked into the system. It's just been emailed to me now," Hotch put the piece of paper on the breakfast bar next to where Rossi was standing.

"It was addressed to Emily?" Rossi said.

Hotch nodded. "I've been through every employee of the Bureau, and no one stands out, Dave. It shouldn't be that difficult."

"To catch a killer you have to think like one. The issue is we have too many people in that place who have the characteristics of criminals, they just chose to use them for decent means instead." He began to read, noticing how Hotch turned away.

After the first read, he looked at Hotch hard enough to make him raise his eyebrows.

"How much of this have you read?"

"Enough," Hotch said, his voice low so as not to disturb those who were still sleeping.

Rossi flicked his eyes between Hotch and the letter. ""_Dear Emily,"" _he began. ""_I would like to congratulate you on your recent relationship with Agent Hotchner, although I did think it was against the code of conduct to engage in non-work related encounters with a colleague. I find it rather ironic that after many years of unsuccessfully trying to find a man you consider worthy enough to be your lover, you happen upon a man with as much emotional depth as a the ones you were previously dating. The difference is that this one covers it up with a suit._

"_You're probably wondering why I've decided to write to you, of all people. You haven't been with the BAU that long, but you have still managed to do as much, if not more, damage as the rest of them. The rule has always been the same: no fraternising between colleagues. It's there for a good reason; if people are infatuated with someone they work with, then they won't do their job properly. I'm a living testament against that theory. I've worked with the person I've been in love with for the past six years, and I have never made a mistake._

"_I don't do mistakes, so please don't be waiting for one to happen in order to make your move. You only have so much time left, too, but you don't have the brains to realise that yet, in fact you've not realised a lot. Maybe I need to spell a few things out for you, but I need to start by getting something off my chest first._

"_It was your fault in the end, Agent Prentiss. It was all down to you. You probably didn't even realise till now who this was all about; I bet Rossi thought it was all about him as he always does, but it wasn't this time._

"_I don't want to hurt anybody, and I'm sorry that yourself and Agent Morgan were injured enough to warrant hospital treatment. But I need you to realise how much damage you, you all, have caused._

"_I want an apology. I want my chance. Then everything can be made right. But I don't have all the time in the world, and I'm sick of waiting."_ "Rossi finished reading the note out loud. "Is this a direct attack at Emily?"

Hotch shook his head. "He's blaming her for something, like he is everyone else. We'll need to speak with Emily, see what she remembers, although this will have likely come from nothing."

Rossi nodded, agreeing. Their UnSub was inherently paranoid, with a fixation on the team, or possibly an individual within the team, as they had summarised before. A stalker, whose object of affection had escaped him. And now he had a plan for revenge. "Do you think this is the same guy who killed Mansfield?"

Hotch looked thoughtful before speaking. "I don't know. It might not be. The fact that he's asking for a chance would suggest he doesn't think he's done anything wrong. But if he's so fixed on this goal, anything lost on the way there is merely fallout, unavoidable wastage." There was a pause.

"You want me to speak with Emily?" Rossi asked carefully.

"I think that would be best," Hotch said.

"You're not avoiding her, are you?"

He looked at the floor. "No. I probably appear to be a complete bastard at the moment though."

Rossi shrugged. "Perhaps. But this isn't because you don't have those feelings for her, is it? This is entirely the opposite."

Hotch's silence told Rossi all he needed to know. "I don't know if I'm the man she needs," he said finally.

"That depends," Rossi said. "On whether you're prepared to be or not."

* * *

The hospital was like any other, really. It loomed ominously against the skyline, its 70's concrete never attempting to blend in with the trees that stood around it, looking like Lego models in comparison.

The parking lot was busy, which was the norm, and suited him perfectly. He had spotted the FBI car that was here to collect the remaining agent and take him back to the safe house. It would be his only opportunity to find out its location, of that he was certain. Even if this case they were working on brought them into the public eye, he could be sure that the highest security would be maintained.

They'd know by now that he was a Bureau employee based at Quantico, and all eyes would be on people who were absent at the times events happened. He'd had this day booked as leave for three months, a coincidence maybe, but it seemed as if fate was smiling on him. He'd hacked into the hospital files, having taken several pages from Garcia's book in recent months, and he'd easily worked out that Morgan was a patient here, given the medical information. Anybody looking for him would assume he was at home and logged on to his computer there, given the amount of activity that would be going on with his email and other online projects. He should stay overlooked for a little while longer.

He saw Morgan at the hospital entrance. He was smiling at the agent he was with. Agent Llewellyn – someone you'd only smile at if you were desperate or incredibly happy. He guessed Morgan was happy, having been out of action for the past few days. In his eyes, Morgan should have been out of action and facing a disciplinary hearing after what had gone down in Utah. It was all round the Bureau now, the story being retold in varying forms. Sometimes Derek Morgan was the hero, and in other versions he was the villain.

What would Morgan be next, he wondered, as Morgan got into the car, Llewellyn driving.

He started the engine. This would be interesting.


	27. Chapter Twenty Six

_Thank you for the reviews for the previous chapter. I hope everyone is still enjoying? This week is the last manic week of school, although it's still three weeks till the summer break. Fingers crossed I'll update more than three times next week, and certainly early on in the weekend._

_This chapter hasn't been beta'd as I've only just finished and wanted to post it quick!_

_Hope you like, and please do review – sorry I haven't replied to reviews yet. I'll try to ASAP._

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over the harbour  
and city on silent haunches and then moves on."

**- Carl Sandburg **

**Chapter Twenty Six**

_**Six years previously...**_

_He first saw her when he was on his way to the kitchen, carrying a tray full of used coffee mugs that were in desperate need of washing. The other members of his team never seemed to clear up after themselves, leaving mugs and plates to fester in the strangest of places until there was enough mould on them to cultivate penicillin. He couldn't abide it, being a person who liked things to be clean and tidy, and he'd taken the opportunity while the rest were in a meeting to pick up the dirty pots and take them to the kitchen at least._

_And that was when he saw her._

_He'd never found blondes attractive in the past, preferring dark hair, or even red. But there was something about her that captivated him. She lacked the natural grace that women who were as beautiful as her generally had; there was something awkward about her movements, something she about the way she gave him a small smile. Yet she had a confident air about her that seemed born from an inner conviction that had blossomed over time. It was something he found refreshing; the lack of arrogance that too many of the women at the Bureau seemed to possess._

"_Do you need a hand?" she said, offering a smile and a look directed at the overcrowded tray._

"_No...no – I'm fine," he said, avoiding her eyes and feeling his cheeks burn, as if she could read his thoughts._

"_I'm on the way to the kitchen myself," she said. "Trying to get my bearings around here."_

"_Y...you've just started?" he said, managing to look up as she took two of the mugs from the tray that were balancing precariously at the edge._

_She made a noise of disgust as she looked at the now solid contents of the mugs. "I started yesterday. Media Liaison for the BAU. How about you?"_

"_Technical analyst for TAG – terrorist apprehension group. You like it so far?" he said, feeling a little less nervous at her friendliness._

_She nodded. "Yeah, it's been really interesting. Only been a day though."_

_A set of rushed footfalls came towards them, and he saw Aaron Hotchner on his way._

"_JJ," Agent Hotchner said. "I'd like you to take a look at this case." He glanced at Dan. "Excuse us."_

_She gave an apologetic smile and followed Agent Hotchner back down the corridor, leaving him stood there with a tray full of mugs._

**November 8****th**

Sophie sat cross legged on the sofa, staring at the blank television. It didn't work. Sure, it played DVD's and there was even a VCR and a few old videos, but cable wasn't available or any other way of finding out what was going on in the outside world. There was no cell phone signal, and no way of logging on to the internet, not that she was surprised. Her laptop sat helpless on the rug covering the stone floor, plugged into the electricity supply just in case she somehow managed to pick up some form of signal to be able to send an email, trying to be optimistic.

Sophie had figured that he wasn't going to let her starve to death. The fridge and freezer were stocked with food that was better than what she had at home sometimes, and the kitchen was basic, but had what she would need to survive for any length of time. The bed had been comfortable enough for her to eventually fall asleep in, although she had spent the first half of the night wondering if he was going to come down to the basement.

That had been the only time she'd allowed herself to cry; the thought of what he might do. So she'd gone around the rooms and collected what weapons she could, noticing that he hadn't removed any of the kitchen knives from the drawers.

Then she'd grasped the fact that he probably wasn't going to be coming back down to see her at all, hence the fact that it was so well stocked. This brought relief as well as fear.

And now, at what she figured was about seven-thirty am, she was frustrated. She knew this was something to do with the team, with Emily – more specifically with Agent Jareau. She also knew now that he'd somehow hijacked Emily's email and that had been how he'd got in touch with her, and set up this, well, kidnapping, she supposed.

Sophie stood up. She wasn't one to spend much time being morose, having never seen the point. If you were down or in a funk about something, then you had to act to sort it out, not sit around sulking. She knew that eventually Emily would realise something was amiss, having not heard from Sophie one way or another for nearly a week. When they did found her, and Sophie was certain it would be _when_ and not _if_, she could be useful to them by knowing more about this man, having something to say about him. So she began to hunt, hunt around the rooms, looking for information about him in the books that he had kept, in the movies. Knowledge was power, just as much as the carving knife she was keeping a tight hold of. Just in case.

* * *

Emily had chosen to ride with Rossi and Agent Boyd instead of Reid, JJ and Hotch. She'd felt a wrench when Rossi had found her that morning, had tapped on her door making her think that maybe, just maybe, Hotch had changed his mind.

But he hadn't, and now he was avoiding her. It was Rossi who told her about the letter, not Hotch. Rossi who sat down on the edge of her bed and made her go through every incident she could recall that could have pissed someone off – and there were a few, but of course none of them stood out.

Her head was aching this morning. Whether it was because of the injury, or because of what was going on in general, she wasn't sure, but it seemed as if a rather large drummer boy was practising with all his might inside her skull. She glanced out of the window at the passing scenery, trees she was already sick of seeing. She loved the countryside as much as the city, but would rather be there through choice.

"You okay, Emily?" Rossi said, breaking the silence that had consumed the atmosphere in the car. Boyd had said little since he had appeared in the kitchen earlier for coffee; his face drawn and tired.

"I'm fine," she said, noticing that her voice sounded the same as it usually did. "Tired, and I would really like to see the inside of my apartment some time soon."

"I think everyone feels a bit stir crazy. Hopefully this new letter will give us some forensics to work with," Rossi said, his optimism always functioning, whatever the weather.

There was the sound of movement from the backseat, and Emily glanced at Boyd in the mirror. He was scowling and looking distinctly fed up. "What's your take on all this, Boyd?" she said. She knew that he and Hotch were in regular discussions, but things had come to a standstill recently; Boyd seemingly becoming more insular and withdrawn.

"Have you thought that maybe this isn't about the BAU?" he said, and edge to his tone. "That attacking you is one way to get to my team?"

"If we consider that, then we have to look at the idea that this could be an attack on the FBI in general, but there is nothing so far in his communication, or his attacks that suggest this is anything less than a personal attack meant as revenge," Rossi said, unperturbed by Boyd's suggestion. "We have too big a list of potential suspects – all people who are on there as they fit the profile in some way – and we need something to narrow it down."

"I've looked at the list and through some of the files," Emily said. "There's no one who sticks out, and none of us can put our finger on a reason for the attacks."

"Because it's someone who has escalated something small. Someone with a paranoid personality type, and unfortunately, that can account for a good percentage of bureau workers," Rossi said. "Hotch has narrowed it down to males who aren't agents. It's someone who craves power, and thinks he's capable of wielding such power, but has been denied it in the past."

Emily saw Boyd shrug in the mirror. She could tell he wasn't buying this, and had his own suspicions, which was worrying. Hotch had spoke of the chance that Boyd would go rogue, would start on his own investigation without informing them or his own team, and Emily wondered if that had begun to happen. "And this is a way of him taking that power," she said. "Then does his really believe that we know why he's doing this, or are the taunts around us 'knowing what we've done' merely another way to show that control?"

"I suspect the former," Rossi said, slowing down as they reached lights. They weren't that far now from the Moores' house, just another ten minutes according to the satellite navigation system. "He has an overinflated ego and places himself falsely at the centre of everyone's focus. He believes he has been wronged on purpose, and by doing that, thinks that he is important enough for people to act against."

"He spoke directly against me in his letter this morning. He also knew about Hotch and I, which begs the question _how_? There has been no electronic communication about or from us, or phone conversations that he could have listened to. And we weren't back in the office long enough for any gossip to begin," Emily said, trying not to think of the fact that there was no reason for that gossip at that moment.

"It depends how closely he was listening," Rossi said. "In Utah, when Garcia moved your rooms. If he was watching what she was doing on line he would have seen that, and could quite easily have put two and two together. And I hate to suggest it, but could there have been the possibility of him hearing a conversation about you and Hotch between JJ and Garcia?"

Emily closed her eyes for a second and nodded. "Yeah," she said. "That could have definitely happened. He's been gathering up ammunition."

"And if he's been watching us closely for a while, he may well have noticed how you interact," Rossi said, turning right down a wide road with individually designed houses at either side.

Their conversation dwindled as they began to take in the area and what it suggested about the couple they were about to interview. There was money here. It was wrapped in the gardens, the cars and the furnishings that were on show in the windows. Nothing was ostentatious, and everything exuded a quiet sense of class.

"Nice," Emily said, her head has started to feel remotely normal now, the drummer boy having ceased his practise.

"How _another_ half live," Rossi said, coming to a stop behind Hotch's car. A cop car was already there too, and Emily figured they would have two rather annoyed people on their hands when they entered the house.

"These people are still free to go and refuse to speak with us," Emily said. "We've nothing but circumstantial evidence on them and the profile. They can outright refuse to have us in their house."

Rossi nodded, killing the engine. "Then we keep them under surveillance until we have more. The case is out in the open now; we have the local PD looking into it so it can't be too long before we find something. But time is key here – there's every chance Alfie is still alive."

Emily nodded, feeling the light inside of her still burn with the knowledge that there could be one happy ending at least.

* * *

Morgan found it uncomfortable in the car, the seat only able to recline so far. He'd taken more knocks than he'd cared to admit, and he wondered how long it would take Hotch before he was placed on desk duty for a month.

He should have been on that at present, after what had happened in Utah.

As the car started, he thought about the previous week and what had happened. He was still unable to comprehend that he had been behind his actions. It felt almost as if it had been someone else there, not him.

A sudden change in speed jerked him back to the present and he glared at Agent Llewellyn. "Hey, man. You think we can go a bit slower?"

Llewellyn frowned, not taking his eyes off the road. "There's someone behind us," he said. "I saw them in the parking lot back at the hospital."

Morgan moved his head so he could see in the rear view mirror.

He recognised the car.


	28. Chapter Twenty Seven

_Thank you to Kim and Emma Berlin for the reviews, and to everyone else! This hasn't been beta'd as I'm running behind on myself as usual, but things are definitely quieter on the work front now, so I'll try and get an update up tomorrow (Monday) or Tuesday – that's if I'm persuaded to with an influx of reviews!_

_Enjoy!_

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"Those who say that I will lose and am finished will have to run over my body to beat me."

**- Said Aouita **

**Chapter Twenty Seven**

_**Eighteen months ago...**_

_The punch did not stop after one hit. The pain reverberated around his body, fracturing every bone, and making him crumble into the ground, no longer a man._

_He'd heard the news by accident – of course, she wouldn't think to tell him personally. He'd been next to Agent Reid in the cafeteria queue, a single sandwich on his tray while Agent Reid's held four._

"_You hungry, Reid?" Nancy Crawshaw said, one of the linguists from the oversees unit who was ahead of Reid in the queue._

_Agent Reid looked slightly incredulous. "No – yes – but what I mean is that not all these are for me. Two of them are for JJ," he said, his eyes wide._

"_Really?" Nancy said. "I don't know where she puts it. She always stays so slim." There was a touch of envy to her voice, a note that made him feel almost proud of his girl. He didn't know at this point. At this point she was still his, his JJ. His Jennifer._

"_Actually, she's pregnant," Reid said, his excitement given away by the expression on his face rather than the tone of his voice. "And she's feeling hungry, so Garcia told me to go buy one of whatever they had."_

_It was then that his world fell down, that his body was broken and his heart gave up. He hadn't known, hadn't even realised that she had a boyfriend. For a second he wonder if someone had hurt her, and he could become the hero, taking her on as well as the baby. It wouldn't matter that the baby wasn't his; it was part of her and he would love it because of that._

"_I take it Will's thrilled too then?"_

_It was the second blow. The father had a name. He had a part in JJ's life._

"_Completely. He's resigned from his position in New Orleans and is moving up here."_

_Agent Reid's words blurred into a mess of reds, his vision swimming. He clutched onto the side of the counter, feeling the blood rushing out of his head._

"_Hey, are you okay?" he heard Reid say._

_He resisted the urge to hit him, realising that the disciplinary procedures that would follow would stop any chance of him weaving himself back into JJ's favour._

"_I'm fine – just the start of migraine."_

_He abandoned the tray, walking away from the queue with the knowledge that this whole thing, this whole scandal, had one purpose. _

_To make his life a misery._

**November 8****th**

"It's the same car."

"From the accident?" Agent Llewellyn said, his voice and demeanour calmer than Morgan would have expected of any agent.

"If you can call it that," Morgan said, keeping his eyes of the car behind them. A red Ford had pulled in between them, obscuring the view of the driver, but Morgan could still keep track.

"How sore you feeling?" Llewellyn said, almost as if he was asking how many sugars Morgan took in his coffee.

"I have a high pain threshold," Morgan said. The road they were on was wide, almost a highway, but they were now in the morning rush hour and given the probable unstable mind of their follower, they needed to assess their options carefully.

"I'm going to get us off this road onto some quieter ones. If we can next the next right, we'll be in Newton and the streets round there are like a rabbit warren. I should be able to lose him easily," Llewellyn said, beginning to accelerate and indicate right to change lanes.

Morgan nodded, gripping the arm rest. There was a shudder of nerves in him, pulling at his stomach, and he tried his best to ignore the feeling as Llewellyn turned right too quickly, swinging him to the side.

The red car passed by, and Morgan saw the driver clearly for the first time, his face hidden by the hood of his coat and a black scarf that masked his mouth.

"You okay?" Llewellyn said, still calm, so strangely calm.

"Fine," Morgan said, lying. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. "I'll phone Hotch. Get someone round here with us."

Llewellyn nodded, concentrating on the quick turns he was now taking around tight bends. A cat scattered quickly across the road, almost using one of its nine lives, and Morgan held his breath as Llewellyn guided the car quickly between two other vehicles parked on a sharp bend.

By the time Hotch had answered, they were out of the residential area and on a narrow road, zipping through countryside. The car was well behind them, but they hadn't lost him, and Morgan's heart was now pounding into the top of his skull.

"Hotch," Morgan said. "He knew I was at the hospital. We're being followed."

"I need your location." Always matter of fact; never panicked. Morgan didn't know if that helped right now, if that soothed him or was making his pulse pound faster. He saw the miles per hour on the dash speed up.

Llewellyn gave their whereabouts, knowing the area well.

"We're trying to lose him," Morgan said. "Hotch..."

"We have your location, Morgan, and we're sending cars out to you now. Llewellyn knows the area well. We'll have you back at the safe house in no time at all," Hotch was saying. Morgan knew he was trying to be positive, that he understood what Morgan was feeling now, but Morgan knew too much. He knew how situations like this could end.

They were now travelling through a wooded area; the trees coming out of nowhere like a stampede of giants, seemingly moving towards them. Morgan could feel himself being forced back into his seat, such was the speed at which they were travelling.

Then there was a stench of rubber as the tyres struggled to grip the road when Llewellyn took a quick right that Morgan hadn't seen. Morgan felt as if his stomach was sitting on a rollercoaster, and as the car almost lifted off the ground when Llewellyn pulled it left onto a lane that surely was just for horses, Morgan lost his breakfast.

"I would have thought you'd have been used to driving like this, given Agent Rossi," Llewellyn said, the windows coming down to get rid of the acidic smell of vomit.

"No, man," Morgan said, thankful that they were now staying on a straight line, no car catching up to them yet. "Rossi is a little quick, but he couldn't have managed those bends."

Llewellyn was silent for a moment, seemingly ignoring what Morgan had just said. "He's not behind us."

"Really?" Morgan said, still feeling nauseous.

"If he'd sussed out the route we'd taken he should have turned onto this road about half a minute ago. Depending on how well he knows the area, I guess we've lost him."

Morgan closed his eyes, his stomach churning. "I'm hoping you know exactly where we are."

"Damn right I do," Llewellyn said, speeding up. "Autism Spectrum Conditions have their bonuses, you know."

* * *

Telling them was the only option, and for the next five minutes Hotch let the Moores sweat inside their house while he and the rest of his team waited outside for news on Morgan and the agent with him.

Cars from the nearest police department had been despatched immediately, but there was no estimating how long it would take them to find Morgan and Llewellyn. There was nothing else they could do besides wait for the outcome.

He'd found himself stood next to Emily, his usual place, and for a moment he was stricken by what he'd made happen in the past thirty-six hours. He wasn't a coward, never had been, but that was how he felt now.

"Shouldn't we go out there ourselves?" Reid said, agitated. "We're not that far away..."

"It's too far, Reid," Rossi said. "It's a twenty minute drive even with Emily at the wheel, and hopefully Morgan will be well on the way back to the safe house in less than ten minutes. We just got to wait this out."

Hotch felt his cell phone vibrate before he heard it ring. "Morgan," he said, answering it. He felt the silence around him stiffen.

"Hotch, we lost him. We're on route to the safe house, although we're detouring via a car rental place." Morgan sounded relieved.

"Good – it'll be as well to change what you're driving. How are you feeling?"

"Like shit."

Hotch almost smiled.

"We've given details of the car he was driving to the locals, and they have an APB out on it. It wasn't a bureau car. The plates have come back as a vehicle used in an armed robbery ten months ago that was reported stolen. I'd put money on it being found burnt out in the middle of nowhere within the next week."

"Derek, you need to make you're detour longer. Go to a cafe at least fifty miles from the safe house and make sure you're not being followed once you've changed cars. Llewellyn should have a credit card that's not traceable back to the Bureau or him personally – use that. Then once you're sure you're not being followed, change cars again before heading back," Hotch said. "This guy's smart; he knows we're hiding out somewhere, and he'll want to find out where it is. You need to watch your own back."

"Gotcha," Morgan said. "I'll call back later." He hung up and Hotch looked round at the rest of the team.

"He's safe. We need to leave here as quickly as possible, especially if the media get wind of this location," he said. So far they had been lucky, avoiding the usual hubbub of photographers and journalists and keeping Martha and John Moore's names from the press. But Hotch wasn't sure how long this would last. "Rossi and Reid, I'd like you to speak with John Moore. Take him somewhere like his work room. Emily and I will interview Martha Moore. Keep it informal, but by no means easy. Use whatever ways you can of getting them on edge." He'd though twice about working with Emily on this, but if he'd decided to put her with Rossi, he would have been letting their relationship interfere with their job. And they worked well together.

"Let's get in there then," Rossi said, beginning the walk to the house. Hotch followed, noticing the gardens which were remarkably neat and tidy, plants clearly placed in the best possible areas to get the sun and shade they needed.

"You okay with this?" he heard Emily say quietly as Rossi approached the door, a uniformed police officer visible through the glass panels.

He wondered why she'd asked as he was certain that he showed no outward sign of his inner turmoil. "Fine," he said. "I'll be happier when we're all back at the safe house, and more so when this case is over." His tone sounded cold even to him, and he wished then that he could take five minutes away from the situation and tell her what was going on, how he was really thinking, feeling.

The door opened, and an officer let them in, John Moore standing behind him, looking as annoyed as Hotch had expected.

"This is unacceptable! What do you people think you are doing, stopping us from leaving our home to do our jobs? We've done nothing wrong, are perfectly decent people and you're causing a scene – standing outside our home like that, drawing attention from all the neighbours..."

"Mr Moore..." JJ stepped forwards.

"...creating suspicions when..."

"Mr Moore..."

"...what will our neighbours think? My wife's school..."

"Mr Moore," she put a hand on his arm. "Please." Her voice was firm and this time he took notice. "We just need to ask some questions."

He pushed her hand away almost violently, then turned around and walked away, Rossi following him with Reid loitering behind, looking at the photographs on the wooden sideboard.

Hotch looked at the officer who had just joined them. "Can you take us to Martha Moore?" he said quietly.

The officer nodded, her tight expression telling of her difficult morning so far. "She's not very happy," she said. "I don't know how much you will get out of her."

They followed her up the stairs, the walls decorated with an old fashioned floral print and pictures of pastoral scenes. It was a house that seemed to have been decorated by a woman in her sixties or even seventies, yet Martha Moore was nowhere near that age.

"She's in here," the officer said, gesturing towards what was the master bedroom. Hotch looked to Emily to go in first. His presence would be aggravating, a gesture of conflict. Emily entering first would be pacifying; at least he hoped.

Martha Moore was sitting at the window, looking out over her garden. She didn't turn her head to acknowledge their presence, or give a single gesture to signify that she knew they were there.

Hotch stayed by the doorway, letting Emily enter fully, while the officer lingered behind him. he tried to be oblivious to the way her hair fell over her shoulders and the slimness of her waist, but gave up, pinching his lips together and thinking momentarily of all the words he knew he needed to say later, when they were alone.

"Mrs Moore?" Emily said. "I understand that you're angry at us being here, but we really need to ask you some questions."

There was no response.

"You know a boy has gone missing. It's been several days now and we're desperate to get him back to his mother." Emily didn't mention about the mother missing him, or the boy needing her. They knew, had worked out, that if Martha Moore was the person sending these letters, then she had no regard for the families, or the parents, probably deeming them unfit to have children.

But she didn't look away from the garden, didn't move an inch. Hotch could see the rise and fall of her back as she breathed, the slight moving only noticeable because of the stillness of the rest of her.

Emily didn't speak for a while, edging closer to the window instead. "Your garden is very beautiful," she said. "You must spend a lot of time in there with your husband."

Martha's stillness was beginning to concern Hotch. He was reminded of a coiled spring, waiting for that key moment before it unleashed its stored power, and he went into the room fully, nodding at the officer behind him to come in also.

"You walked passed Alfie's house on your way to the park. What was he like?" Emily said, her voice staying calm, her look focused on the garden.

Martha Moore turned around quickly. "Bitch," she said, almost whispered the word delicately. She froze again, looking at Emily, but Hotch wasn't sure if the insult was meant for her.

"Who do you mean?" Hotch said, but Martha's eyes did not come to him, instead they stayed on Emily, who was beginning to move away.

"You're stopping me from looking after my children," Martha said. "They need me. Can't this wait until after school?" She stood up, her back to the window now.

She was avoiding eye contact, looking quickly round the room, and he figured she was looking for an escape. "We can go through some questions quickly, Mrs Moore, then you can go back to your job."

It was a lie, but not one she knew. He had called the principal before leaving the safe house and advised him to suspend Martha Moore with pay while the investigation was going on.

"But I don't know anything," she said. "I'm terribly upset that Alfie may be sad and lonely, and I pray he'll be looked after soon, but there's nothing I can help you with."

He noticed her words; _looked after_ instead of _found. _He knew what she meant – once they had gone and she felt safe, she would go to look after him.

"Hotch," JJ spoke from the door way.

Hotch turned around, sideways onto Martha so he could still watch her movements.

"We've found clothing that fits the description of what Alfie was wearing when he went missing," JJ said in hushed tones, almost mouthing the words.

Hotch nodded, turning back round fully, but now too far away to block Martha Moore from lunging at Emily and pushing her towards the window.


	29. Chapter Twenty Eight

_Ta-da! Another update! Again this isn't beta'd, and to be honest, I haven't even read it through so there's bound to be loads of errors._

_My lovely beta, __**Chiroho**__, I have not ceased to bombard thee with chapters, just trying to get ahead of myself and get back into the usual manic writing routine._

_Thank you for the reviews – they did make me get writing when I got in from work tonight. Fingers crossed for another update tomorrow or Wednesday, but it does depend on the reviews!_

_I haven't had chance to do review replies yet; I wanted to get this up quick, so please take this chapter as a big review reply! _

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"Frustration is the first step towards improvement. I have no incentive to improve if I'm content with what I can do and if I'm completely satisfied with my pace, distance and form as a runner. It's only when I face frustration and use it to fuel my dedication that I feel myself moving forwards."

**- John Bingham**

**Chapter Twenty Eight**

**November 8th**

He'd known he wouldn't be able to keep up, but it was still a disappointment and now he was feeling angry, as if someone had flicked a switch and changed who he was. He hated them, hated them so much that it was eating him up from the inside, nibbling away at every organ and injecting a poison that was killing the person he'd once been.

The car had been ditched, of course. He'd found some homeless guy who'd looked stoned out of his head, and had offered him the keys. The guy had taken it, of course, no questions asked, and when the car was traced, which he was sure it would be, they'd be no sign of him, not until any forensic evidence came back from the lab, which would no doubt be a couple of weeks at least.

By which time, he'd have finished his plan.

The cafe where he was sat was busy, clearly popular with the local business population. He'd been ignored, of no interest, while they got their lattes and cappuccinos to go. That was the problem – being ignored. He knew they did it on purpose, to get to him, to irritate him, trying to show that he was of no use, that no one would find him interesting. Just like the members of the goddamn behavioural analysis unit had done.

He wondered if they'd analysed their own behaviour yet, if they'd worked out what they'd done. He knew they were hiding out somewhere, in one of the government's safe houses, and he had a rough idea of the area in which it lay. Unfortunately it was somewhere off the grid. If only the idiot agents hadn't noticed him – they'd have taken him straight there.

Then he could have exacted the rest of him plan, but now that seemed unlikely to happen.

He needed to change it. He needed to get her alone and make her see.

* * *

The glass didn't break.

For a moment Emily couldn't quite grasp that she was still on both feet, on the second floor, in a room, and not toppling down through the air to hit the concrete beneath. She regained her faculties quickly, grabbing hold of both of Martha Moore's shoulders and stopping her from moving, making her freeze.

The few seconds of madness were followed by a silence as cold as the window against which she had been thrown. Then came Martha's tears and she collapsed onto the bed, tortured sobs filling the room. Emily couldn't help but feel pity for the woman. There was always the chance that they hadn't got this right, that they had focused on the wrong person.

"Martha," she said, ignoring the pounding that had restarted in her head. "Martha. Tell me what you know."

"He is such a sweet little boy," she said. "So loving. He had a temper tantrum one day a couple of weeks ago and threw some clothes over the fence. I picked them up and washed them, meaning to drop them back off..."

"Why not just hand them back straight away?" Emily said, not wanting to increase Martha Moore's sense of security right now.

There was a heavy sob. "Because then he would have been in even more trouble. I was trying to protect him, help him out a bit. It wasn't fair, his mother being away all the time and having a nanny. Poor boy. Poor, poor boy."

Emily stood back, the woman's sobs dissolving into hysteria. She looked to Hotch who seemed his usual calm self and her heart twinged.

"We have a doctor on the way," he said. "And we haven't enough to take her into custody. I suspect she'll be admitted into hospital for a psych evaluation based on what she's just tried to do and her current mental state."

"But what about the clothing?" Emily said. "We can't take what she's just said for granted."

"Circumstantial. We need to find out if he had two of the same items of clothing. It will be enough for a warrant to search the place, and we will be able to hold her for assaulting an officer, but any decent lawyer will get her off that charge in minutes."

She could tell by his tone that he was frustrated by what had just happened, retreating back into his shell and suppressing whatever emotion was hanging around behind a thick brick wall. "Then we have to take a step back and look at what evidence we have. I still don't feel like we know everything." She looked about the room which was slightly shabby although not through lack of care.

Footfalls sounded as they came up the stairs, a doctor and an ambulance driver.

"Can you stay with Mrs Moore while she is taken to hospital?" Hotch said to the officer who had been present throughout.

The officer nodded, her eyes remaining fixed on the woman who was still on the bed, sobbing hysterically. Emily knew that some sort of sedative would be administered, something to calm her down. There was no way they would be allowed to interview her while she was in such a state, and it would be useless anyhow. She was incoherent, nonsensical.

They left the room, Emily following Hotch to the top of the stairs, but instead of going down them, they stayed, listening to the cries from the master bedroom.

"This house," she said. "It's in an area that is way out of what the Moores could afford on their salaries. She's an elementary school teacher, he's a handyman. Unless he's doing something else on the side, this house had to have been inherited – or maybe her ex-husband was richer than we had previously assumed."

"She moved here after the divorce," Hotch said, keeping his voice low, almost inaudible. "The house was part of a legacy left by an aunt who was also childless. The aunt died some time before Martha's marriage ended, and this place was left to its own devices. Why it wasn't sold I'm not sure."

The door to one of the smaller bedrooms was slightly ajar, and Emily peered through the gap seeing another room with decor that looked like it had been chosen by her grandmother. "I doubt they've had any money available to redecorate," she said. "Unless this was too her taste already."

Hotch nodded discreetly as Martha Moore was escorted out of the bedroom by the doctor, the officer following close behind. "She looks older than she is, and she appears it in her manner too. I can understand why the principal was so shocked when she announced she was remarrying."

"We need to question his motives for the marriage, Hotch. Although he isn't the most intelligent of people, he is attractive to the extent they make an odd looking couple. People generally seek someone who is of a similar level of attractiveness to themselves – that's psych minus one-oh-one – and that is totally disproved here," she glanced at him, wondering how they matched up themselves.

"We should find Rossi and Reid, see what they got out of the husband. I doubt they're still interviewing him. He must have heard his wife's cries even if he was down in the basement," Hotch said, starting to take the stairs.

"What happened upstairs?" Reid said as they reached the living room, the temperature low as the front door had been left wide open.

"A slight altercation between me and the window," Emily said, thankful to the person who had made sure that the windows were strong and secure. She'd figured it was one of the few changes that had been made to the house, probably due to John Moore. "What did you get from the husband?"

"I assume he's gone with Martha to the hospital?" Hotch said before anyone had had a chance to answer.

Reid nodded. "He was very concerned, and it seemed totally genuine. Whatever the differences between them physically, there is a close bond between them – on his part at least."

"He talked about Martha's sadness at her inability to have children," Rossi said, his finger sweeping along a sideboard. It was clean on inspection; dust free. "And how she had been like a saint in helping him get over his first marriage. He seemed a genuine guy, Hotch. Completely bewildered as to why we would be here."

"So he's either telling the truth or he's a completely convincing liar," Hotch said. "Reid, what do you think?"

"He's telling the truth. If the Alfie's disappearance does have something to do with Martha Moore, I can't see John Moore being involved," Reid said. "Shall Rossi and I head over to the hospital? We need to speak with her as soon as she's fit enough."

Hotch shook his head. "We should get back to the safe house. Martha Moore will be under police supervision while she's being treated. As soon as she's well enough to leave, we'll have someone call us and we'll go to the hospital. I know it's not exactly a short journey, but after what's happened with Morgan this morning, we can't take any chances of hanging around places where the press might turn up."

Emily saw him glance at JJ, as if asking for an update.

"I've had one or two phone calls from reporters who have been forwarded to me by the local police departments, and so far I've managed to pacify them into believing there's no story at present. However, as soon as they get wind of Geoff Thompson's involvement we'll be faced with a barrage to deal with."

Emily felt Hotch's body heat as he stepped closer to her on his way to the door and felt her skin bump. She tried to lose the reaction quickly, hoping her expression didn't give away the combination of hope and hurt she was feeling.

"Hotch, I'd feel better if I can go check on Martha Moore with JJ and Reid at the hospital," Rossi said, Emily noticing the brief but odd look he gave her. "I'd just like a word with the nurses in her care. You should get Emily back and check on Morgan. We can't lose sight of our other mission too."

It was too obvious an instruction, its meaning too clear and Emily wished she could get into a Tardis and step back a few seconds in time to gag Rossi.

"Agent Boyd has got a lift back to Quantico," JJ said, and Emily was sure there was a hint of a smile there. "He said there was something he needed to check on."

A thoughtful look crossed Hotch's face. "I'm not sure about these missions he keeps sending himself on. He's acting like he has information that the rest of us aren't party to, and that concerns me. Has he said anything?"

"He mentioned in the car on the way here that he thought our UnSub was targeting his department rather than the BAU," Emily said. "He seemed quite set on the idea."

"I'll call Garcia and have her monitor what information he's pulling out of the computer," Hotch said, his cell phone already out. "Dave, feel free to head over to the hospital and check on Martha Moore's condition, but stay away from pressuring her or her husband to talk any further. If they've any sense they'll brief up as soon as possible."

Rossi shook his head. "I don't think they will. Martha's in no fit state to consider it, and I doubt it will cross John's mind. He has no concept of the fact that they could be in real trouble here. I assume we're getting a warrant?"

Hotch nodded, and Emily wished the conversation would hurry up. She wanted the time alone that Rossi had magicked out of thin air, even though she had cursed him for it just a minute before, and she also wanted to get back to somewhere she knew was safe at the moment; that open door blowing in fear along with the air.

"Deputy SIngleman is on it," JJ said. "But he thinks the judge will take his time agreeing to it as it's his golf day."

"Is there no one else?" Rossi said, now sounding impatient, which didn't bode well for whoever crossed his path next.

JJ shook her head. "No one who wants to tread on the judge's toes, anyhow. We could have the warrant before we leave the hospital, then we could return for the search."

"As long as the media haven't caught onto this by then," Hotch said. "I know we all want to throw ourselves into this case like we normally do, but have got to be concerned with our safety. We'll see you back at the safe house. Keep your phones on at all times."

There were a few brief nods, and then Emily left the house, feeling as unsure as the sun trying to break through the thick, grey clouds.


	30. Chapter Twenty Nine

_Yes, I disappeared! My other half began to complain that the only way he could communicate with me was via email, so I had to spend a bit of quality time with him! I'm off school for summer now, so plenty of 'me' time to get this story finished! Another ten or so chapters to go, so I hope you're still interested. If anyone would like a recap at the start of the next chapter than let me know, and I can refresh your memories! This is unbeta'd as once I'd written it I wanted to get it up ASAP._

_Please enjoy, and review!_

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"Ask yourself: 'Can I give more?' The answer is usually: 'Yes'."

**- Paul Tergat**

**Chapter Twenty Nine**

**November 8****th**

The prelude to winter lasts an infinite number of days. There are the days when everything begins to bloom; showers of springtime when chicks hatch and snowdrops linger briefly in gardens. Does the countdown begin then? Or does it start during summer, when the heat suffocates and the sky wears an unbelievable shade of blue? Then there are the golden days; the days full of the richest tones of reds, oranges, browns. The dying days. The days that signify that winter is closer; that time is drawing to an end.

Rossi saw a man in the midst of those golden days, sat beside a coffee machine with his head in his hands. He'd hit a blank wall of nothingness, where any future spring was buried behind a winter that promised coldness and ice. John Moore looked younger than his age, and younger still than his wife. His hair had not yet been turned grey, and it was still thick and full. Age had been kind to him, so far, although Rossi knew that he would grow much older in the next few days, or even hours, while his life came under scrutiny and the woman he thought he knew and loved was metaphorically dissected.

"Agent Rossi," Moore looked up as Rossi drew closer. His voice was cold, and a younger agent may have felt uncomfortable. Rossi didn't though. He'd passed that stage some time ago.

"Mr Moore. How is your wife?" Rossi said, sitting down next to him.

Moore shrugged. "She doesn't want to see anyone. She told the nurse she feels guilty about Alfie going missing, that she should have noticed someone was watching him," he said, rubbing his fact with his hands. "Martha adores kids, Agent Rossi. She comes home spent some days because of something bad that's happened to a kid at her school, and she beats herself for not doing something sooner. It's then that she's inconsolable – like now. Only I've never seen her this bad." He stared at the blank wall in front of them. "You shouldn't have come to us. She would have never have ended up here if you hadn't come."

Rossi said nothing, knowing there was no point in disagreeing. Now wasn't the time to pick a fight. "Do you have children, Mr Moore?" he said, keeping a warmth to his tone that he wasn't sure he felt.

John Moore shook his head, looking at the floor but seeing nothing. "No. My first wife did. She had two girls from her first marriage, and that was enough for her. To be honest, I never felt the need to have children. I like kids, and I liked being a stepdad, but that was where it stopped, I guess."

"You no longer see your step kids?" Rossi said. To Moore, this would sound like a general conversation, no ulterior motive lying underneath. To Rossi, this was a way to extract what could be crucial information, only Moore wouldn't see that; to all intents and purposes, he was a nice guy, and probably innocent in all this. Probably.

"No," Moore said, still looking at the floor. A nurse walked passed, glancing briefly in their direction. "The split between myself and Rochelle was not pleasant. She made several accusations against me, and refused to let me see the girls. I decided I wanted a clean break, but left my contact details with a mutual friend to pass onto the girls should they ever mention wanting to get in touch with me. They never have."

Rossi nodded, watching the nurse go into one of the wards off the corridor. As soon as he could, he would have Garcia check on the background of the step daughters and on the allegations that had been made. "Shall we go get a coffee?" Rossi said, the sounds of someone shouting making the atmosphere more uncomfortable than it already was. "I'll have the nurses contact me when your wife wishes to speak to you. She may just need a little time alone to gather her thoughts."

Moore nodded as if in some sort of daze and stood up, still not making eye contact. He wasn't an intelligent man; he didn't seem to be able to think more than a few minutes ahead, and appeared to have no concept of what was really happening to his wife, and to him. Yet he had a nature somewhat like a child, that was very trusting and innocent in many ways. Rossi wanted to know about his education, whether there had been any special needs there, or if he had ever even graduated high school. He knew that Martha Moore's first marriage had ended badly – would she have been attracted to John Moore because of his child-like personality, or was there something more sinister than that, a meeting of like minds, and John Moore was an excellent manipulator.

The nurse at the reception desk took Rossi's contact details and assured him and Moore that she would contact them if Martha requested her husband. She also informed them that the police officer that had been present in the bedroom when Martha Moore had attacked Prentiss was currently in the room with her, something that seemed to settle John Moore somewhat, and he followed Rossi quite calmly to the cafeteria provided by the hospital for visitors and its staff.

Moore offered to get the coffees, putting two pieces of pie on the tray that Rossi knew would be nowhere near as good as Jolene's, and he felt a pang at not having managed to get to see her or Detective Winters yet. They had only the briefest idea about what was going on; knowing only that the BAU team were in a safe house and communication was on a minimal level. It was safer that way; there was nothing to say that their UnSub wouldn't attempt to hurt those close to them.

He pushed those thoughts from his mind as Moore sat opposite him, pushing the tray over to offer the pie. "It's blackberry," he said. "Doubt it's as good as Martha's, but for some reason I thought I might enjoy it."

Rossi nodded, noting the peculiarity of the desire. John Moore certainly wasn't an over eater. Some people would turn to food in times of stress, but Moore didn't profile that way – he wouldn't know how to deal with it and would more likely become frustrated and either shout out or be upset. "Thank you," Rossi said, keeping his face a blank page. "I was beginning to feel peckish. With this job, you never know when you'll get the chance to eat."

Moore nodded, managing a smile that seemed a little too broad. "The coffee seems good, too," he said. "Better than what was coming out of that machine. You think Martha will be okay – that these allegations against her will be dropped? She doesn't know anything – she just likes kids. That's why she reacted like that. She's been beside herself about what happened to the boy."

"You know, we have to have reasonable suspicions about someone to do what we've done today, Mr Moore. We couldn't have gone into your house and asked you those questions if we just thought you might be witnesses," Rossi said, unsure as to whether John Moore really did believe they just thought the FBI were there to see if he and his wife could help or that he was establishing some elaborate ploy.

"Oh," Moore said. "I guess I knew there must be something more, but I don't see how you can think we'd have something to do with it." He looked at Rossi, establishing proper eye contact for the first time. He was trying to weigh up what information they had.

"This coffee is good," Rossi said, changing the topic in a blunt fashion so Moore knew that he wasn't going to get any more information. "Tell me more about your first marriage. What was your wife like? I can't imagine there are two women like Martha in the world."

Moore had already looked away so Rossi couldn't read them, but his expression was cold. "I'd rather not speak of it, if you don't mind," Moore said. "It's not something I wish to think too much about, you know."

Rossi eyed the clock, wondering how much longer they would have to spend here, and how much longer it would take to get something concrete on the Moores. Winter was looming, and they had other issues to deal with before the first snow.

* * *

She hadn't heard anything in days. It was soundproofed, that she'd worked out, and that would answer why she hadn't heard anything, but even so, she'd expected a visit from the creep who was keeping her here.

Sophie picked up the book she was reading off the floor. _The Collector, _by John Fowles. She'd figured he'd left it there on purpose as some sick joke, but on closer inspection she'd found the name of someone else on the inside front cover: Alison Heath. Sophie wondered who she was and where she was now. This room had clearly been done up for a lodger – maybe that had been Alison.

Her mom would have started to miss her by now; she would have expected a phone call or a text message to say that she was okay, and as none had been sent, she would be wondering what to do. She had Emily's number, but Sophie knew that would be useless. But there was Detective Winters and Jolene – if her mom went to either of those then they surely would be in touch with Agent Rossi.

She sat back on the sofa where she had been sleeping and returned her eyes to the book, taking in the situation of Miranda and likening it to her own. Miranda hadn't managed to find a way out. Sophie could only hope her own fate would be different.

* * *

Winter brings an external coldness. Its temperature seeps into bones, slowing them down and making every movement seem like a great effort. It brings a need to huddle into warm blankets next to a roaring fire, waiting for blood to heat up. It is the neediest season, when we wish for the comforts of home; warmth, nourishing food and the heat of others.

Hotch thought he would have felt more awkward, sitting in the car with Emily so close. He'd managed to avoid her for the past day or so, not wanting to deal with what he felt at present. It was something he'd become good at, repressing any form of emotion and storing it away neatly, without mess, and at the moment, this needed to remain stored away.

"You believe the tale about the clothing?" Emily said, referring back to Martha Moore's reason why they seemed to have found something belonging to Alfie in her house.

Hotch shook his head, feeling relieved that Emily had chosen to stay on the topic of the case. He'd known she would anyway, knew she'd be nothing less than professional. None of what had happened between them would compromise their working relationship. "No. I think she has Alfie. In fact, I'm absolutely certain of it. It's just going to be a matter of time before we find him, and we only have her or John Moore to tell us where he is."

"I'm not convinced John Moore's involved," Emily said, looking out of the window. "I'm not convinced he's isn't either, but something isn't sitting right there."

Hotch almost smiled at her turn of speech. "He's interesting. I'm hoping Rossi can get something out of him whilst they wait to speak with Martha Moore."

"If they get to. That performance in her bedroom was exactly that – it was done for show so it seems she's losing her grip on reality," Emily said, no hint of anything in her voice. He wondered why he was looking for something, for some sign of what she was feeling. He could put it down to guilt, to needing to know that she was okay and not too hurt by what had happened. By what he'd done.

"If it was, then she's far more intelligent than what we've given her credit for so far," he said, keeping up his speed as he took a sharp bend. He'd gotten to know the roads around here quickly, and had devised a route back to the safe house that took them away from the main roads, making it easier to spot if anyone was following them.

"If she is responsible for _all _the disappearances of these children then she is dangerous, Aaron. Someone careless would have been caught by now," she said, now looking at him. His name reverberated around the car and he wished he could ignore it, but he knew that tonight he would hear it in his sleeping state.

"We haven't done this case right," he said, feeling anger and frustration at the truth in the words. "Strauss should never have put this our way with everything else that is going on. We should have solely worked on whoever is targeting us. Too much is at stake."

"But we _know_ who has Alfie. By tomorrow – this evening, maybe – he could be home," she said, a look of hope in her eyes that he just caught sight of.

Hotch said nothing, instinctively knowing that that wasn't going to happen. The darkness of the day showed no sign of lifting. He concentrated on the drive, anger bubbling inside that he wouldn't let anyone see, would deal with in a positive way, through work, through thought.

Only he wouldn't think about the woman beside him and how to resolve that anger. That was beyond him right now. It might always be.

* * *

Martha smiled at the officer, Lyndsay Bergamon, who was sat down in a chair, glancing nervously at the door. "I'll only be five minutes," she said, trying to reassure the police officer who wore the same expression as when she was five years old and had been fretting over being left at school for the first time by her mother. "No one will know I've gone. If a nurse pops in you can just say I've been to the bathroom when we get back."

"I really should let Agent Rossi know..."

Martha shook her head. "He won't allow it. He thinks I've done something horrible to this boy," she allowed tears to fill her eyes, semi-genuine ones as she thought of poor Alfie, all alone, needing her. "You know I could never hurt anyone, Lyndsay. You remember being in my class don't you?"

Lyndsay nodded. "I know – it's Mrs Moore now, isn't it? You were my favourite teacher. I'm sure all this will get sorted soon. You say you want to check in on your neighbour?"

She felt herself brightened, feeling like an addict who was about to get what they desired. "I just need to go in and feed the cat and the fish. She's in hospital and I always help her out when I can. If we take the fire escape no one will notice us, and we'll be back before the nurse's next proper check up," Martha said, stepping towards the door.

"Okay," Lyndsay nodded. "Seeing as it's you." She gave Martha a large smile that reminded her of when Lyndsay had received the student of the week award. But Lyndsay wasn't that little girl anymore. She was no longer a child, and she didn't need any looking after. Martha needed to remember that.

_There may be another update tomorrow, if not, then definitely Wednesday!_

_Please review, so I know my absence hasn't caused too many people to stop enjoying!_

_Sarah x_


	31. Chapter Thirty

_A day late, but it is a longer chapter *seeks forgiveness*_

_Thank you to those who reviewed – please do review if you can. It takes a good few hours to write each chapter, and only a few seconds for just a short review, and they are much appreciated!_

_Anyway... recap time!_

**Last time on Criminal Minds**... (_well, I had to, didn't I?)_

On returning home after the case in Utah, Rossi was the target of a explosion at his home. He wasn't injured, but this led to the team having to leave Quantico behind and take refuge in a safe house. In the meantime, Agent Mansfield , who was investigating threats to the BAU, was murdered in his house, making the investigation more personal for his second in command, Agent Boyd, who has taken it upon himself to investigate without the team's expertise, and has a suspect in his sights.

While based in the safe house, further threats were made, and Prentiss and Morgan were run off the road and injured leading to a hospital stay. After being discharged from hospital, Emily was told by Hotch that he thought their relationship should be put 'on hold'.

The team profiled their UnSub to be someone working for the FBI, with an excellent knowledge of computers, who has felt aggrieved by each member of the team in some way. They profiled him to be a stalker, who has maybe fixated on one member in particular, but nothing in the past suggested exactly who that could be.

At the same time as the threats and attacks began, Strauss passed on a case involving the disappearance of a young boy, Alfie Fletcher. The case was to be kept quite as his father was a high profile politician and Alfie was the son of his mistress. Alfie's disappearance was linked with the cases of three other children; two of whom had been found dead several months later, the other had never been found. All parents had received strange letters before each disappearance.

Alfie's father, Geoff Thompson, had blamed Jennifer Keeley for Alfie's disappearance and had taken revenge into his own hands. Rossi discovered her body on Thompson's property. The case had then focused on Martha Moore, an elementary school teacher, and her husband John. She reacted badly to being questioned by Prentiss and was taken into hospital to be assessed.

And that's 30 chapters briefly summarised!

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"The worst lies are the lies we tell ourselves. We live in denial of what we do, even what we think. We do this because we're afraid. We fear we will not find love, and when we find it we fear we'll lose it. We fear that if we do not have love we will be unhappy."

**- Richard Bach**

**Chapter Thirty**

**November 8****th**

Morgan was smiling when she saw him, his eyes on his computer screen, reading an email. But his smile didn't cover all of the shadows that still lingered there: it had been a tough couple of weeks with too many unresolved issues that still had no sign of being put to bed.

"Something amusing?" Emily said, sitting down next to him. Hotch had disappeared to the office he'd claimed to grab some papers, and Emily felt glad to have a few minutes where he wasn't around. His brooding was more intense than usual, and she was finding it a little stifling.

"Just an email Reid sent a couple of days ago – you'll have seen it. He copied us all in," Morgan said, resting back against the sofa tentatively. "What's been happening this morning?"

"Aside from you being followed back from hospital, and nearly ending up back there?" Emily said, almost collapsing onto the chair adjacent to Morgan's sofa.

"Llewellyn's a decent driver," Morgan said. "He had us covered. He's trying to I.D. the car as we speak."

Emily nodded, letting silence reign for a minute or so, giving them both time to think and contemplate.

"You and Hotch," Morgan said eventually. "Garcia said - "

She shrugged. "He has issues."

"He shouldn't."

"It's not that straightforward, Derek," Emily kept her voice low, aware that Hotch could enter the room at any point. "Getting involved with a colleague is totally out of character for Hotch..."

"It's totally out of character for anyone who was married for as long as him," Morgan said, interrupting. "He made a decision back in South Dakota that he wanted to get involved with you as more than a colleague. Now he's done a complete three-sixty on that. Has he even said why?"

Emily screwed her mouth up a little. Morgan was right; there had been no clear reason given for his change of mind, not that she had ever expected a full explanation anyway. "Not really – I kind of always just assumed it wouldn't last very long."

"That doesn't say much for your opinion of him, Em," Morgan said. "This happened just after our crash?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, the day after."

"You think that's why?"

"What do you mean?"

Morgan shrugged as if it was obvious. "He can't handle you being hurt. This job – we put ourselves in danger even when we don't mean to. He can't always be there to save you Prentiss, and that's what he thinks his role should be. I also doubt he's used to having to deal with the different feelings the crash would have caused."

"So, given your vast experience of the dating scene, Morgan, how would you go about this now?" she said, glaring at him, unsure as to whether she wanted him to interfere in what was going on, but curious as to what his advice would actually be.

"Confront him. Ask him what the deal is. Cause the chances are, he's not sussed out himself yet what is actually going on in his head..."

"And whose head might that be?"

Emily and Morgan both looked up a little too quickly on hearing Hotch's voice, and Emily began to will the floor to open up and swallow her whole, spitting out her bones in some undiscovered part of the Sahara.

"John Moore," Morgan said. "You know, maybe we've pussy footed round him a little too much. Been too nice. What's Rossi's latest?"

Emily wondered how much practice it had taken for Morgan to be able to smooth over a lie like that.

Hotch raised his eyebrows, clearly not buying it, but saying nothing. Avoiding the conversation. Emily began to feel determined to force the topic at some point when they were more private. "Rossi called a few minutes ago. He's been with John Moore for the past hour or so, and hasn't got much further with him. He seems very naive in some ways, but then something slips and Rossi says it's almost like he's playing a part. Reid's been speaking with an acquaintance of the Moores' who's at the hospital visiting her mother, but again, he's just getting feedback of them being a lovely couple. Apart from what we heard at the park, we're not hearing anything useful."

"Any news on the warrant to search their home?" Emily said, sitting up a little straighter.

"The officer in charge is still working on it," Hotch said. "We're leaving that to the locals rather than us doing it. After Morgan was followed today we need to keep a lower profile and stay out of the way."

Morgan nodded, an action which surprised Emily. "A search of a school teacher's house in connection to a missing boy is going to bring a lot of media attention to the case. As soon as the story breaks our UnSub is going to have a real good idea of what we've been working on since we moved out of Quantico."

A dark look crossed Hotch's face. "This could well be the last case we work for a while," he said. "We have a profile for our UnSub, but a suspect list that's too long to do much with. He's clever – but all we can do is wait for him to make a mistake."

"Then shouldn't we do the opposite of what we're doing now?" Emily said, frowning. She'd thought this before, but the need for caution had seemed greater then. Yet it had got them nowhere. "We need to provide a controlled opportunity for him to make a mistake."

Morgan looked brighter at the suggestion, while Hotch's expression had grown blacker still.

"Look, Hotch. There's no reason for any of us to be harmed any more than we already have. If we link ourselves to this case publically there's no way he'll be able to resist the lure of the media attention and the opportunities it will bring to make his story heard. He's clearly aggrieved by these _things_ that we've done to him and wants us to apologise or make up to him in some way, but for him to do that, and for us to understand him further we have to be out there," she said, resolve gathering within her as she spoke.

She was met with silence as she and Morgan waited for Hotch's response.

"We need to ensure we have the person or people who have taken Alfie first," Hotch said. He looked pale, Emily noticed, and his eyes were dull, lacking their usual shine. "Once we've done that, we can arrange a press conference. We need to sit down and sort out the details."

Emily nodded, although she wasn't sure she agreed with him completely: taking a more prominent role now, although being careful about it would certainly draw their UnSub from out of the woodwork. However, now was apparently not the right time to debate this judging by Hotch's demeanour; she'd leave it until after she'd spoken to Rossi.

"How are you feeling, Morgan?" Hotch said, as if just realising that it was Morgan who was sat there.

Morgan nodded. "Not too bad. I guess it could have been a lot worse."

"There was no chance of you being followed back here?" Hotch said. Emily found she couldn't contain her annoyance at the insinuation that Morgan and Llewellyn would put the team in danger, but she said nothing, knowing her expression would do all the talking – if he noticed.

"No. Llewellyn made sure of it. He's been busy trying to get information on the car that was following us and writing up his report for you," Morgan said. Emily saw him glance at her, and his eyes change from wary to slightly amused.

"I'll go speak with him," Hotch said, starting to walk out of the room. "Make sure you take it easy, Derek."

Emily caught Morgan's eye as Hotch left and felt vaguely irritated at his all knowing expression.

"You need to talk to him," Morgan said. "In fact, make that talk _at_ him."

"That'll make things worse," she said with a half sigh, sinking further into the chair.

"Can it get any worse?"

Rain began to hit the window so hard it sounded as if the glass would break.

"It can always get worse, Morgan. We should know that by now."

* * *

The cardboard cup full of something that was being passed off as coffee was almost too hot to hold, something else to cause him aggravation. The day had already been too long and the far away reality of a warm fire and a finger of malt whisky were almost too painful to contemplate. He was now stood near to the room allocated to Martha Moore half-listening to John Moore question the nurse who was looking more harassed by the minute.

"Has she said anything about wanting to speak to me?" he said, his voice urgent.

"We've not checked up on her for a while," the nurse said. "The officer has been with her and she asked us not to interrupt as Mrs Moore wished to talk. We have no concerns with your wife's physical health, Mr Moore. We're just waiting for one of the specialists to say she's okay to be questioned."

Rossi frowned, sipping the coffee and not tasting it. He'd often spoke to students about having a 'spider sense', an intuition that something was amiss. He would go on to explain that it wasn't some special power injected into the human body with the venom of a spider, but simply a gift at noticing things, and being observant towards peoples mannerisms, their tone of voice and facial expressions.

"How long is it since you last saw her?" Mr Moore said, and it was at that point Rossi slipped passed and pushed the door open to Martha Moore's room.

The nurse had rushed behind him, words about privacy still on her lips when he knew her mouth had fallen open without turning round to look at her.

"Where is she?" the nurse said.

Rossi turned to John Moore. "Maybe you can answer that?"

The look of confusion that crossed John Moore's face was worthy of a part in a soap opera. "I have no idea," he said. "I thought..."

Rossi waited. This instant was crucial. It would show whether or not John Moore was somehow involved in what his wife had done – was doing. Martha Moore had not lost the plot when she had hit out at Prentiss; the move had been a calculated one, one that would get her into a hospital, make questions be asked of her treatment, and then afford her the opportunity to slip out, to check on her pet. "You though what? I suggest you begin to elaborate."

"I thought she was talking to the police officer, you know, Lyndsay Bergamon..."

"Why do you know the officer's first name?" Rossi said, his eyebrows now into his hairline.

"I...I... heard her say it," John Moore said. "She said it before."

Rossi noticed the nurse shaking her head. "He's lying," she said to Rossi. "Mrs Moore was one of Officer Bergamon's elementary school teachers. I heard them talking about her other classmates while I was in the room."

"I didn't know that!" John Moore said, his words babbled. Rossi could see panic in his eyes, the sort he'd seen in hunted animals the moment they were caught.

"Let's get you down to the station and we'll talk there. I suggest you sit down and have a long think about exactly how you're going to help us," Rossi said, pulling out his cell phone.

The whisky grew ever further away.

* * *

**Calverville Point, South Dakota**

"You heard from that FBI agent of yours recently?"

Jolene looked up from the tap she was refitting behind the bar and took in the recently dyed hair of Leonie Tucker. "Yesterday," she said, having to think about it. There had been that many things to do in the past twenty four hours she'd lost track of time.

"He say anything about Sophie being there?"

Jolene frowned, trying to think. The last conversation they'd had had been a lengthy one, but she was pretty sure he'd not mentioned Sophie at all. "No. She wouldn't be there at the moment, anyhow. The whole team are being kept out of the way as some small minded ape is trying to mow them down. You remember me telling you about that explosion at Dave's a few days back?"

Leonie's face had started to turn pale, her eyes widening.

"You need a drink?" Jolene said, her hand reaching automatically for the glasses she used for gin.

Leonie shook her head. "No. But I need to you to get in touch with your man and tell him I've though Sophie's been with Agent Emily for the past couple of days."

Jolene poured the gin for herself. "What?"

Leonie sighed. "Soph said Emily had sent her a plane ticket to go see her in Washington for a few days. I agreed, even though she was missing a bit of school, but you know she's a good kid and I thought the trip would do her good. She sent me a message before she got on the plane and one when she landed, but since then I've not heard from her. I've tried phoning, but it goes straight through to voicemail. At first I thought she must have run out of charge on her phone, but she would have packed the charger. You know what a good kid she is, Jo. She would have phoned at least once a day to save me worrying."

Jolene added tonic. "Dave would have mentioned if Sophie was with them. He was talking about this safe house where they've just been put up..."

"Can you call him – let him know that she must be missing..."

"I can't, Leonie. I don't have him number – I can't have it. The only way I can get in touch is through the FBI itself, and I'll have to ask Officer Rawson for that. I'll do that now," Jolene said, taking a quick drink.

Leonie nodded, her silhouette darkening as Jolene stepped into the back of the bar to make the phone call that would draw Calverville Point in yet another nightmare.

* * *

It is a hard thing to contemplate, how you will die, and few people consider it unless they have to.

Lyndsay Bergamon was twenty-three years old. She'd been an officer for two years and had a date that evening with a guy she'd booked twice for parking offenses. She'd been looking forward to it, had picked out what she was going to wear and had been hoping that she would managed to get off her shift at the right time.

Dusk had just begun to take its place at the table when Martha had turned round and given her a wide smile. "I can't find the cat," she'd said, frowning. "It can't have gotten out."

"Has it gone down there?" Lyndsay said, pointing to the open cellar door from which a dreadful draft was rising.

Martha shuddered and looked perturbed. "I hope not. It's a bit of a mess down there. I've only been down once."

Lyndsay sighed. They had already taken longer than she'd anticipated, stopping first at Martha's house to get the neighbour's key, then at her school so she could nip into her classroom as she hadn't found the key at home, so she thought it must have been there. They'd been gone well over an hour, and would definitely have been missed by now. Lyndsay hoped they could say Martha had had to visit the bathroom, otherwise she'd be in for a disciplinary. "I'll have look. Where are the lights?"

"I don't think there are any."

Grasping hold of the metal bar that led down the cellar, Lyndsay began to walk slowly down the steps, noting how narrow each stair was. She could feel the coldness grasping round her, and she shivered, feeling scared by what was down there.

But it wasn't what was down there that she needed to be scared by, as Martha Moore stroked the wooden handle of the pickaxe that her neighbour kept in the little cupboard in the kitchen, right next to where she'd stored the cat food, before the cat had been rehomed six years ago.

Lyndsay Bergamon had never thought about how she would die. But as the moment came, it wasn't death that was on her mind, but what shoes she should wear that night for her date, followed by the heavy metal of a pick axe, that stayed on her mind in a very different way.

* * *

_I've just answered some questions for ilovetvalot for the Chit Chat on Author's Corner forum. I imagine they'll be up soon in your interested._

_They'll be an update at the weekend._

_PLEASE REVIEW! Let me know if this fic is still doing it for you!  
Sarah x_


	32. Chapter Thirty One

_Thank you to all those who reviewed!_

_May in Brazil – if you're reading this story! I tried to email you the extra chapter of Lake Erie, but it bounced back. Please can you let me know your email address again and then I can send it to you. Anyone who reviewed __**ALL**__ the chapters of Lake Erie and hasn't had the extra chapter, please let me know._

_Hopefully they'll be another chapter up tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then definitely Tuesday!_

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"The things which the child loves remain in the domain of the heart until old age. The most beautiful thing in life is that our souls remaining over the places where we once enjoyed ourselves."

**- Kahlil Gibran**

**Chapter Thirty One**

**November 8****th**** - Evening**

_Hush, little baby, don't say a word_

It was strange, sitting in the back of the vehicle, blacked out windows shielding him from prying eyes. Not that there would be any of those tonight; no one was interested in him, or what he was doing, unless they needed to know something, or he hurriedly called one of the points of contact he had been given.

They'd not given a profile yet, and Reid wasn't sure if they would do. As far as he was aware, Hotch, Emily, Morgan and JJ, along with Garcia and Kevin, were back at the safe house, gathering information on Martha Moore from whatever stone had yet to be unturned. He'd had a phone call almost every six minutes precisely.

But he still felt detached.

It wasn't like he ever played a main role in searching houses. Reid had long since accepted – around about the time he'd been barricaded in a toilet cubicle by three sophomore girls when he was a junior – that he was never going to be an action man. He still smarted when he remembered having to renew his gun licence; not because it had taken a lot of help from Hotch, but because of the sympathy it had wrought from his colleagues, the sympathy that was entwined with the notion that he didn't really need to carry a weapon anyway. Another bruise to add to his shins.

And here he was, being kept safe again.

There was no one to hide from in the car, no reason to hide under a facade of facts and figures that were always a safety net for awkwardness or when he really wasn't sure how to relate to the people he was with. He could have pulled out a few statistics for comfort, but the lights around him from the flashlights were too distracting and he almost felt like opening the window and shouting to them to turn them off. But that wouldn't help much. It would just antagonise the officers who were searching, and that, he knew, was not wanted.

He'd been left in the back of a car as a child once for three hours. His mom had driven them to a grocery store as there was no food left in the house. She'd told him to wait in the car while she went in the store, telling him that he'd only get under her feet and ask for things she couldn't afford if he came in, so he'd waited.

And waited.

Then waited some more.

It hadn't been summer and the car had been cold, almost freezing. She'd locked him in to keep him safe from any bad people that were walking round and he couldn't unlock the doors to get out and go look for her. So he'd been stuck there.

When she returned it was dark, a neat, cloudless sky had hung overhead, spotted with stars that he could name. He hadn't complained when she got back, he hadn't cried or become upset or gotten cross. Instead he'd named the constellations that he'd seen while she cried, sat on the driver's seat, her head against the steering wheel as she realised what she'd done.

She'd forgotten the food.

He'd said it was alright, and they drove to a diner. He'd had a burger and she'd eaten fried chicken, and they both drank coke and shared an ice cream sundae.

Sitting now in the back of the car, catching glimpses of the lights carried by the officers reminded him of that night, and as he reached into his pocket for his phone he thought of the small boy they were ultimately looking for and hoped he'd taste that burger and drink that coke with his mom soon.

* * *

_Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird_

And if that mockingbird won't sing...

He felt annoyed. He knew they had been given a case to work on; there had been no other explanation for them to be outside that woman's house, although he'd figured it was because of some minor stalker incident, something to keep the team occupied while they were considered to be 'safe'. Now he knew that it wasn't just some mild stalker case, it was bigger than that, or so he'd heard from a friend in the press who'd rang to see if he knew anything about Alfie Fletcher being Geoff Thompson's son, and Thompson being arrested for murder. He'd given Tim a few leads from time to time, let him know over a drink in a bar what was going on – particularly with the BAU. He never gave details that would show too much knowledge; just what anyone in the local PD could have found out.

It had stung when he hadn't known as much as Tim. It had stung even more when he realised that his carefully enacted plans had been as successful as he had anticipated. He hadn't brought the BAU to its knees.

He'd taken a few personal days. No one had asked why. They didn't pry into his business. They knew he was professional and would only take time off when it was necessary and there was nothing pressing on the job. He'd picked up a couple of cars under different names, using identities he'd carefully created. There was no way they'd be traced back to him. He'd been too careful. Another car he'd used had been stolen a while ago and picked up by a petty criminal after it had been dumped. The criminal had just happened to live in the apartment next to his old school friend, and he'd sold it for peanuts. He had it all under control. They wouldn't find out who he was until he wanted them too.

Part of him felt a little guilty. Sophie, the girl, was still stuck in the converted basement. She hadn't done anything really, except become friendly with Agent Prentiss, but that word still struck him hard. _Friendly_. Prentiss had never been like that with him, never been anything more cordial, polite. When she'd started at the BAU he'd thought she might have given him a way into Jennifer's world, introduced them, befriended him. But instead she'd just been polite, with a slight sneer underneath. She reminded him of the girls at school who had used to smile at him to his face, and be nice, and then they'd go and giggle quietly about him when they thought he wasn't looking. She was just like that; her and Derek Morgan.

Bitterness cascaded into his stomach, irritating the ulcer that he was sure was already there. He had some tablets in one of the other cars, but not this one; and he cursed himself for being unprepared. Still, there wasn't much reason to hang around here now. There was only Agent Reid about, tucked away in a car, and what he was about to do required him to drive a few streets away anyhow. Then he may as well head home, maybe send some groceries down to Sophie, or just leave her with what was left in the freezer.

He bet Prentiss had laughed about him with Sophie too. He could see her telling Sophie about this guy they worked with, how he couldn't keep his wife, how he was always thinking he had a shot at being in their group. Maybe Sophie laughed back. She was probably one of the popular ones at school too. She probably laughed at boys like he was, made fun of them.

He'd leave her to manage what food she had.

A cop pulled him over as he drove away, asked him if he'd seen Martha Moore at all. He'd told him no, the truth – he wouldn't stop them from catching someone who was harming children of course. Then he'd driven two blocks away, to where a group of boys had been kicking a ball about, playing soccer.

"Here," he said to one, his window wound down. "Take this to one of the officers who are over there." He passed him an envelope and a ten dollar bill.

"Is it dangerous?" the boy said, cautious.

He shook his head. "It's a note I need to get to Agent Reid. They'll pass it too him."

"You an agent too?" the boy said, sounding excited.

He smiled and nodded. "Yeah. But I'm off duty now, and if I take this myself they'll have me working again. A bit like how you hide away when your mom wants you to empty the dishwasher." He knew they wouldn't have to wash the dishes round here. None of them would be used to the childhood he'd had.

"Sure," said the boy, taking the envelope and the money. "I'll go now."

He gave him a smile and then revved the engine, seeing the boy running in the correct direction as he drove off.

* * *

_Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring_

The night time whispered in through open blinds, making the winter that little more obvious. Will had made it his afternoon mission to collect enough wood to get the open fire going properly, and now it was spitting sparks against the guard, a low roar fascinating Henry.

JJ was sitting opposite him, her legs curled under her as she looked down a page of notes that to him were illegible. "Rossi faxed these over about ten minutes ago. Hotch has asked us all to have a look separately; see what we think."

"There's still nothing to suggest John Moore is implicated in some way?" Will said, casting an eye to Henry, who was gazing drowsily at the fire.

JJ shook her head. "There's nothing clear cut about the case at all. Nothing else has been found in their house, and there's no sign of Martha in any of the places they've looked so far, or of Officer Bergamon either. It turns out that Martha Moore was Bergamon's elementary school teacher, and was particularly well liked. Her partner, Bradley Calliss, has told Rossi that Lyndsay couldn't believe people were even suggesting that Martha could be somehow involved in the disappearance of these children. It would have been easy for Martha to persuade her to get her out of the hospital."

"Would her husband have realised her plans?" Will said, holding his feet closer to the fire.

"Rossi seems to think so. His reaction when he found out that Martha was missing from the hospital was very false," JJ checked the notes, "and Rossi says that after denying knowing anything at all, John Moore has pretty much said nothing for the entire time they've been trying to question him." She handed the notes to Will.

He began to read them while JJ sat by Henry on the floor, bouncing a toy in front of him, but their son's eyes were fixed on the fire. "I think we've created a pyromaniac," JJ said.

Will smiled, continuing to read. Rossi's notes were thorough, but that meant he had written quickly and it was sometimes hard to work out what he had put. The notes had been given out in the hope it would help build up Martha's profile, so they could think of places where she may have hidden, or have taken Alfie. The concern now was that she would panic and run, taking the child with her and disposing of him during her flight. The perimeters around places known to her would be tightened, but that wouldn't make them impenetrable. She would have allies, possibly, as well, people who could be identified by her husband, but he was saying nothing.

However, Rossi knew better than probably anyone else that over ninety percent of communication was non-verbal, so when he couldn't write down a spoken response, he made a note of Moore's expression, his gestures, where his eyes flicked to, and this interpretation could give some information at least.

"Moore isn't very bright, is he?" Will said. JJ had now taken Henry out of his seat and was playing with him on the floor, the fire creating a shadow play behind them.

"No," she said, looking up. "It appears he's tried to cover up the fact that he knows something at the very least."

"So the best possible situation for him would be that he knew his wife was up to something bad, and that they may have had a conversation in the past where she said she'd never manage in jail. Or that he believes she is innocent, and thinks she did the best thing in getting out of hospital. He may know he's at risk of saying something that incriminates her, so he's keeping his mouth closed," Will said. "The worst is that Martha hasn't been acting alone in this, he's made a partnership with her and he's probably hoping she's disposing of the evidence."

Will passed the notes back to JJ, who now had Henry on her knee. "What does your gut tell you?" she said.

He shrugged. "More if I could speak to him myself. I can't get that much from Rossi's observations."

"I could ask Hotch if you could speak with Moore tomorrow," she said, looking at him questioningly.

"I don't mind, Jayje, if it helps with the case, but I have no jurisdiction here. I couldn't even interview him as an officer."

She nodded. "That might be what it needs. Someone who he can talk with."

"Maybe," Will said, standing up. "I think Rossi and Reid have just parked. I'll take Henry up to bed and let you get ready for your meeting." He picked up his son, and leaned over, kissing JJ on the cheek. She leaned into him, one of her hands grasping hold of his back as she nuzzled into his neck.

"I just want to go home," she said. "Spend some time without a case with just you and I and Henry."

"I know, cher," he said. "It'll all be sorted out soon." He wished he could promise that, but at the moment, from what he could see, they were no closer to finding the person who was keeping them hostage in this house than they were when they first got there, and now it seemed the team as a whole were functioning on the lowest ebb he'd seen.

Will glanced back to JJ as he opened the door to the hallway, seeing the shadows created by the fire dance up and down the walls. She cut a sorry figure, sat there, her head resting on one hand, her hair slightly mussed by her son's fingers, and he wondered for how much longer they could carry on like this.

* * *

_I am hopefully going to get chance this week to write that short HP piece to regular reviewers I promised ages ago, so keep an eye on your inbox. It may not be long, but I will try to make it 'soothing' to make up for the HP tension in the previous chapter!_

_Sarah x_


	33. Chapter Thirty Two

_Firstly, thank you to __**Chiroho**__ for the beta – you'll hopefully notice how much more polished it is that the past few chapters!_

_I've been working on a long oneshot, still HP, but a little different. It's a casefic as well. This has meant that the next chapter of this fic may not be up until Friday as I haven't started it yet, having been engrossed in __**How Far Away the Stars **__(the name of the one shot)._

_Thank you for the reviews for the previous chapter. I will try to get round to review replies, but the plot bunnies are still biting and I'm desperate to crack on with the stand alone. It began as the extra piece for my reviewers, and is now too long, so they'll be getting something else before Friday – so watch your inboxes!_

_This chapter is also a little different – I wanted to try a different style. It was actually much easier to write in the present tense!_

_Also, my 'interview' with ilovetvalot is up on her forum, 'Chitchat on author's corner'._

_Enjoy._

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"The childhood shows the man, as morning shows the day."

**- John Milton**

**Chapter Thirty Two**

**November 8****th**** – evening/ November 9****th**** – early morning**

_And if that diamond ring turns brass,  
Papa's gonna buy you a looking glass_

The selection of sandwiches has not yet been touched, and everybody seated around the table knows it will probably stay that way. No one is hungry; their appetites have been wiped away with the piece of paper Reid holds in his hand.

"It was passed on to me by one of the officers," he says. "She told me a boy had given it to her. When I mentioned its significance, they got in touch with his parents and took him to the station to try and get a sketch of the person who had given it to him. They'll fax through whatever they get."

No one comments immediately. It is as though everyone has been disappointed by this new occurrence, as if they thought that somehow what had happened with Martha Moore had made their UnSub go away.

"The letter's interesting," Reid says, not noticing that Hotch is raising his brows at the word _interesting_. "The language he uses is different than before."

"How?" Prentiss says, leaning forward, her dark hair spilling onto the table.

Reid pauses, looking back at the piece of paper that he has kept in pristine condition. He's still wearing plastic gloves even though it's already been dusted for prints. "There are more verbs in it, which suggests he wants to take more action. Nearly every sentence is a statement, telling us what he's going to do, and as you've heard it's quite violent now."

Now it's Rossi's turn. "_"I will slice the tongues from their mouths and hang them out for the birds"_, some nice imagery there given that I don't think he really means it. This letter is all about attention seeking – there's no way he would commit these acts he's threatened. He's pissed that we're working a major case when he thinks we should be quivering in our shoes."

Garcia gets up and heads to the dimmer switch on the wall. The room is illuminated like an operating room. She turns the lights dow,n and opens a cupboard where she knows candles are kept.

"You know, Pen, we're not about to have a romantic dinner here," Kevin says, watching her with interest. "We're kind of like trying to suss out who it is that wants to hurt us."

She glares at him in a way everyone knows she doesn't mean it. "Bright light at this time is not good for sleeping patterns," she says, miraculously finding matches and lighting the candles. She puts them on the table and sits back down. "That's better."

"Although it does look like we're about to have a séance," Emily says. She's sitting one seat away from Hotch, meaning she can't look at him, or him at her. She's feeling awkward; not because of what's happened, but because of what she's planning on saying when she gets the chance. She's thinking of the repercussions.

"That may shed some light," Rossi says, smiling slightly. "More light that these candles do."

"We need to focus," Hotch interrupts, looking at the people who are within glaring distance. He's uncomfortable, looking as if he's put on a shirt which has too tight a collar. "This letter, what else can we infer from it?" He likes this, throwing in a question and making them feed off each other. It's when they're at their most productive.

"He's annoyed we've been working this big case. He thinks he should be the centre of attention," JJ says, taking a sip of the coffee she brought to the table.

Morgan nods. "He's never been the centre of attention before. He's always been sidelined, the second to last to be picked for a team, the one people forgot to ask to the party, the one who thought girls were sniggering about him behind his back, when in fact it wasn't about him at all."

"So he's paranoid, almost justifiably so. He perceives himself as having been the one who was picked on, when in fact he was just ignored," Reid says, still looking at the letter. He flicks a hand across his face, moving away the strand of hair that's fallen across his brow. It bugs Rossi, his hair. Rossi would like to take the kitchen scissors from out of the drawer and shear some of those locks off. It's something he thinks about from time to time, especially when Reid has been particularly tiresome.

"And this is the result," Hotch says. "He doesn't have a high powered role in the department he's assigned to. He's an extremely conscientious worker, and considers himself to be indispensible. He'll have taken very few sick days, and will always have a specific reason for personal days. He wants to feel important."

"I can narrow down the list we have," Garcia says, her fingers poised over the keyboard. She looks tired, which is unusual. The conditions at the safe house are getting to her; she doesn't like to feel trapped.

Morgan looks as if a revelation has just come to him. "He's either an only child or had only one sibling. His behaviour is of someone who has never been particularly good at getting along with his peers, which would suggest someone who has spent a lot of their childhood on their own."

"That should narrow the list down further," Rossi says, nodding towards Garcia. "The Alfie Fletcher case is drawing him out. Maybe we should become more prominent with our role in it; let him see us in the media."

Hotch's expression is stony. "That makes us sitting ducks," he says. It seems like he wants to glance at Emily, he's trying that hard to not look down the table to his left. "He's going to be around Martha Moore's area more and we will have to be there too, unless there's any resolution soon. But under no circumstances must he have the opportunity to follow us back here."

"Why not use someone as bait?" Emily says. "If we keep it to one or two of us being around there, then it's easier for Boyd's team to cover our backs. We need to draw him out as much as we can. If he's out in the open ir'spossible we can see and identify him. This is someone we _know_, Hotch, however vaguely. This is someone we will recognise and know that they shouldn't be at a scene."

There is silence. Everyone around the table knows there's a very good reason why Hotch is reluctant to do this, it's as plain as day. Everyone also knows who the two obvious candidates are to send out.

Hotch now has a dilemma. There are other reasons why he thinks this is a bad idea – nothing is ever completely clear cut – but there are advantages to this that he doesn't think he can rule out. He also knows who he has to send out there, or rather, he knows who he can't send out. Morgan would have been an obvious choice, but he has to rest; he still has doubts about Reid's capabilities under pressure; Rossi would be an option, but if it was Emily that had to go, Hotch would rather it was himself. JJ was instantly out. He had realised it earlier when he'd taken a walk around the area surrounding the safe house. They'd already suggested that it was himself and JJ who were the most likely targets of a stalker. Given that the stalker was most likely male, the target was unlikely to be him. JJ had undergone quite a change in her personal life in the past two years; having Henry, getting engaged to Will and him moving up to Washington from New Orleans. These were acts that would antagonise someone who thought he had a chance with her. Hotch glances at Garcia. She will be the one to ask first; was there anyone showing a particular interest in JJ? Garcia will know, she will have noticed.

" Prentiss and I will join the search tomorrow, and I'll give a statement to the media when necessary if JJ can arrange that from here. I'll contact Boyd later and let him know our plans," Hotch looks down the table towards Emily, the first time he has purposefully made eye contact with her this evening. "We'll organise a plan tomorrow morning on the way to Martha Moore's. We can't act as we would normally."

"I'm aware of that, Hotch," her tone oozes sarcasm, and Hotch feels as if he's been winded. He looks to Rossi for help.

Rossi lowers an eyebrow at Hotch, who pretends not to notice. He will avoid Rossi tonight. He doesn't want to have a discussion about this.

"Everyone's seen the notes from the interview with John Moore," Rossi says. Garcia has left the room now, attempting to narrow down the search with the new perimeters they have given her. "He's not smart. Lynch managed to find his school records, and he didn't graduate high school. He's seemingly managed to get through life on charm."

"What about the step-daughters?" Reid says, almost cutting in.

"There were allegations of physical abuse," Kevin Lynch answers. "It was investigated, but no evidence was found."

"I don't think he knows anything," Reid says, his eyes scrunched up like they do when he's really thought about something. "He's a cover for Martha. That's why she married him in the first place, among other reasons connected with self esteem. He truly believes she's innocent, hence his reaction when he found out she'd gone."

Everyone seems pleased that the discussion has moved away from themselves and other suggestions and scenarios follow freely, but nothing can be certain until they have more information. Until then it's just guess work.

The sound of a telephone ringing interrupts the debates that are going on, and Hotch steps out of the room to answer it. His absence and the call quieten everyone down, and when he re-enters there is silence.

He looks around at them, inhaling deeply and they know it's not good news.

"They've found Lyndsay Bergamon's body in the basement of Martha Moore's neighbour. She had a heavy blow to the back of the head. It's doubtful she knew what was about to happen. Moore's behaviour is escalating. We know she's not in a fugue state, but she is devolving," Hotch says, reverting to facts and what may happen next, rather than focusing on the tragedy.

They can't focus on the victims for too long, because that will be what kills them. Each of them has developed a thick skin as the years have gone by, the ability to accept what has happened without being overcome with grief. _Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow._ That's when they will grieve.

"Any sign of the boy being there?" Morgan says. He is itching to get out there and start looking himself, but it won't happen. By the time he has recovered enough, the boy will have been found - they hope.

"An outhouse was searched, an old ice house. There was a make shift bed in there with blankets. The local PD have brought in the dogs, and it seems to be a positive scent," Hotch says. His eyes are dark, almost emotionless, but everyone knows that the emotion is being contained. Alfie Fletcher is close to Jack in age, and Hotch has seen their faces combined in his dreams.

"But he's not necessarily still alive?" JJ says. She already knows the answer.

No one responds.

A candle goes out, burnt down already, and someone makes a comment about the government trying to save money by providing cheap candles. It's an ironic comment, as there is nothing inexpensive about the safe house anywhere.

Hotch calls it a night, and they begin to leave to go back to their rooms, or in Morgan's case, the kitchen. Emily is the first to disappear and Hotch feels disappointed. He is regretting what he did, that he acted in haste and took what was then the easiest option. It's not anymore. Nothing about this was going to be easy. Nothing worthwhile ever is.

Kevin blows out the remaining candles and turns the light off completely. He pauses by the window and looks out, seeing nothing.

It's too dark out there.

* * *

_And if that looking glass gets broke..._

A streetlight flickers as if sending a secret code to the mother ship. It is the only light on the road. Every window is a blank, everyone is either asleep or out of town, or on a date maybe.

Boyd is sitting in his car again, watching the same house that he has done for the past couple of nights. His mouth is dry, but he doesn't notice, he's too intent on waiting for his prey.

There was another letter today, passed on by a young boy, making more threats, all directed at the BAU. No mention was made of Boyd's own team, the team that was Agent Mansfield's. Mansfield had reminded Boyd of his father; kind, fair, helpful but firm. Boyd had rebelled as a youngster. Maybe he was still rebelling now.

A car purrs down the road and pulls up on the driveway Boyd has been watching for the last one hundred and twenty six minutes. He gets out of his car but doesn't lock the door.

There are two people in the car on the driveway, one is Karl Calzaghe, the other is his girlfriend.

"Hey, Boydy," Calzaghe says.

Boyd doesn't respond. Instead he readies his gun.

* * *

_Papa's gonna buy you a billy goat_

Emily has drawn herself a bath even though it's almost midnight and she should be trying to get some sleep before an early start in the morning. She aches everywhere, as if she's about to come down with flu, but she knows it's not that. This ache's caused by something psychological instead, a combination of things that are going on.

She strips, throwing clothes into a random pile near the door. The bathroom is en suite and the door is locked, so there's no chance of someone coming in unexpectedly. And she doesn't want anyone in there tonight. No unexpected visitors.

The water is almost too hot, and she has to lower herself into it gradually, as if getting into a cold swimming pool. Once she's fully immersed, bubbles drown her, and for a second she can imagine she's at a spa somewhere, far away from this place and its nightmares.

The water is soothing now, lapping over her skin, encasing her. She found some Molton Brown bubble bath in the cupboard, an English brand, which supported Garcia's theory that this was a place designed for the British prime minister or a member of the royal family to stay.

Emily doesn't feel very royal today. Her temper is as hot as the water she's now in, and she wonders if her anger showed on her face, or in her tone of voice. She doesn't hold grudges, but neither can she leave something unaddressed when it's irritating her.

Hotch's face makes its way into her mind and she pushed it away. She's too tired to be bothered addressing her issues rationally right now, and instead she focuses on the warmth of the water. She lathers up her hands with soap and starts to wash her skin, feeling the weight of the day's dirt peel away from her. It is a ritual; the need to be clean, to wash away the terrors they see.

Once satisfied, she lies back again the water, which has cooled slightly, and she lets everything become still around her, slowing her breath so that the water moves minimally.

There is no noise.

Everywhere is silent.

She knows that Garcia and Kevin will still be awake and about. Morgan will be in the kitchen, recovering from hospital food, and Rossi will probably be reading or writing. But she can't hear anything.

Silence was something she was used to as a child. With no siblings and a lifestyle that meant friends weren't around very often, she was used to her own company. Maybe that was one of the reasons she had never married or had children; she liked that alone time and there were very few people she wanted to share it with.

Was Hotch one of them? She had thought so.

She recalled an evening several months ago, just after he and Haley had separated. She'd wanted to shop, to buy some new clothes and a few luxury items, so she'd gone to a mall a few miles out of town.

She'd seen Hotch in a men's outfitters, choosing shirts and looking uncomfortable. He hated shopping, he'd already said.

He'd cut a lonely figure, and at first she'd wanted to impulsively go into the shop, maybe see if he wanted to grab a bite to eat or go see a movie. But she'd stopped herself. Alone time.

And that is what they both have now. Emily pulls herself out of the bath, causing water to wave over the side. She swaddles herself in the massive towels, and lets herself dry, leaning against the wall, knowing that nothing good is ever decided or said when tiredness is reigning.

* * *

_And if that billy goat won't pull..._

Sleep has never been something Agent Llewellyn is particularly attached to. Even as a child, he'd never needed much sleep. Not that he was a nuisance as a baby; he'd been quite content to just look around noticing things while his mother slept, or so she had told him. That had been one of the first things that made him unusual.

His colleagues will come into work, complaining about being tired, exhausted; he never feels that way, no matter how late he's been up the night before. Sometimes he can seem a little 'distant', something that would be put down to tiredness, but that's usually because he is distracted by something.

Llewellyn reads quickly, though not as fast as Reid. He doesn't have an eidetic memory, but his memory is better than most. He has lots of Asperger's traits, but also lacks some of the key ones, making him more unusual; something he likes. He's reading through a condensed list of names that Garcia has forwarded to him. They've struck up a bit of a bond: himself, Garcia and Lynch. He identifies with them more so than any of the rest of the BAU or even his own team, and he was in her study before, watching as she played with search terms.

They were down to eighteen possible. All were men on the periphery of the BAU, people they would have come into contact with on an occasional basis at least. Four had applied for jobs within the unit, and these interest Llewellyn the most. They had a grievance because none of them had been successful in their application, but Llewellyn also questions whether there had been another reason for them to want to work in the BAU, namely one of its members.

He begins to search through various databases, looking to see if they blogged or had a Facebook account when an email hits his inbox. He reads it immediately and forwards it to Hotch and Rossi. Someone called Sophie is missing.

* * *

_Papa's gonna buy you a cart and bull_

Hotch received Llewellyn's email and notes the time: it's half past one in the morning, and he's pretty sure that he, Llewellyn and the two computer techs are the only ones awake. He emails Garcia and asks her to check flight records for the date when Sophie left South Dakota, and all financial transactions and cell phone details since then.

A sinking feeling resides in his gut and he knows who she's with, who has lured her away from home. He has to tell Emily now, to find out if she knew anything about this plan, if she had sent plane tickets. He pulls a t-shirt on; he'd been in the midst of getting ready for bed when the email arrived, and he doubts Emily will want him turning up semi-naked.

It's only two doors away and he doubts she's asleep. He knows she will be lying in bed, trying to relax, but her mind will be going back to the cases. Sex worked for her, he'd found in the past few days. She fell asleep easily afterwards, and he'd been able to lie with her curled in his arms and listen to the soft whisper of her breath.

He knocks on the door, trying not to think about sex with Emily any more. When she opens it there is a look of confusion on her face. She's wondering why he's there, he can tell; is it because he wants to talk, or is it work. He wishes it was the former.

"It's Sophie," he says. "I need to come in."

He sits on the bed they shared until a couple of nights ago, and he notices the mussed covers where she has been lying. Emily stands near the window, the curtains still open, the soft light from a low wattage bulb giving a glimmer to the room.

"What's happened?"

She's gone pale and Hotch hides a wince. "Her mom found Jolene today and told her that Sophie got on a plane to come here on November 6th. She said you'd got the ticket for her and arranged everything via email. Sophie texted her mom when she landed in Washington, but that's the last she's heard from her. Jolene spoke with Detective Rawson, and he contacted the Bureau – the message just reached Llewellyn." He's tried to give her all the information at once so she can mull over as full a picture as he had.

"We spoke on the phone while we were in Utah," Emily says, her voice breaking some. "We talked about her coming here for a week in the holidays." She looks up at Hotch with wide eyes that look scared. "My email account was hacked, Hotch, and our cell phones were being tapped. He's pretended to be me to lure her here." She closes her eyes and sits down on the wide window sill.

Hotch breaks his own rules and goes over to her, putting an arm around her and pulling her into his chest. He can smell her moisturiser and feel her heat.

"This is something that's been well planned," he says. "I thought it was JJ he was targeting; she profiles better as a victim for a stalker, but this may change things." He stands up, somewhat abruptly. "I have to phone Strauss and let her know, and get in touch with Rawson in Calverville Point."

"What can I do?" The fire is back in her eyes now, and it sends a sharp burn through him.

"Go see Garcia," he says. "She'll be working on accessing Sophie's email account. Speak with Lynch too, and have him look at Garcia's shortlist of suspects to see who has property where they could hide a teenage girl."

"You think she is still alive?" The edge to her voice cut him as well.

"Why wouldn't I? The threats the UnSub has made are against us. He hasn't hurt anyone else. Taking Sophie is his way of trying to show us something, to prove a point," Hotch says, trying not to consider what would happen if he did hurt her. "We have to hold it together and find her, Emily; not go considering any alternative."

She nods, looking more like the agent who turned up in his office two years ago telling him she was now on his team. The silence hangs like a slanted picture.

"Hotch," she says. "You need to go. I need to get dressed."

He leaves, never before feeling so hollow inside.

* * *

_And if that cart and bull fall down,  
You'll still be the sweetest little baby in town._

She couldn't help but smile. Every time she looked at him, she smiled. Maybe this was how it was meant to be; this was what she was here for, for him. He was asleep now, his head nestled into her chest, his cheeks still tear stained. She knew the crying would stop, that eventually he'd forget his mother – not that there was much to forget as she'd never been around, and then he'd be hers. He was better than the other ones.

And she was safe here, tucked away. They wouldn't think to look here for them. She figured it would take three days before their search moved, probably to Harrisburg, Philadelphia, where she had a small property she'd never told anyone about. Where she went after that, she wasn't sure, but she'd figure out something, and somebody would help; they always did.

Martha kissed the top of the child's head and lay him down on the blanket she'd put over the cushions. It was okay as a bed. She'd told him – Matthew she now called him – that it was like camping, and when he was older they'd go proper camping. Then he'd asked if they would take his mommy with them, and she'd wagged her finger at him and told him off. If he mentioned her again, she'd have to give him a smack.

She lay next to him, not feeling at all tired even though it was late. It was all too much really, the fact that she'd managed to get away. She hoped John thought before he spoke, otherwise he could blow everything – he knew everything of course, or nearly everything. As much as she wanted him to know.

Her blood ran cold when she heard voices outside. She sat up, listening to what they were saying, her blood boiling as she heard the words.

"...maniac teacher! I can't believe I let her look after my kids. They were all in her class. Still, she was always a bit..." The voice went away, but it had been enough for Martha to recognise it. Mrs Peachman worked as supervisor at a care home for the elderly. Martha knew her routine; she would finish her night shift, come home, walk the dog and then stay awake to take the kids to school in the morning. Her three boys were all troublesome, and Martha had always blamed their mother.

Martha wasn't the maniac, Mrs Peachman was.

Martha wasn't the maniac, Mrs Peachman was.

Martha wasn't the maniac...

* * *

_Please review!_

_Sarah x_


	34. Chapter Thirty Three

_Thank you for the reviews one the previous chapters. Those consistent reviewers will be getting a nice little HP piece tomorrow morning – not quite finished yet and I've just taken my migraine meds so won't be quite ready tonight. Shorter chapter too on this due to time reasons and migraine - sorry!_

_Please have a look at my new short story, __**How Far Away the Stars **__as I'd really, really like feedback and constructive criticism. Thank you to those who have already reviewed, you'll have your reward on Sunday._

_Next chapter of these will be Sunday too, finger crossed that the migraine goes quickly._

**Where the Blue of the Night**

" Obsessional does not necessarily mean sexual obsession, not even obsession for this, or for that in particular; to be an obsessional means to find oneself caught in a mechanism, in a trap increasingly demanding and endless."

**- Jacques Lacan**

**Chapter Thirty Three**

**November 9****th**

She didn't want to, put she had to, so she did it before he woke. Small children sleep through the strangest things, she'd noticed. Matthew should have woken when she bound his hands together; then put tape over his mouth. She'd tied his feet to the workbench first; make sure they were secure enough so that he wouldn't make noise by kicking things. That was the only problem with this place; it wasn't sound proofed, and people like Mrs Peachman would walk by occasionally.

Martha looked at him, assessing how much danger he was currently posing her. He'd lost weight; the baby fat from all the candy and chocolate he'd been given at his bad mother's had gone quickly, and she'd noticed that he was shivering last night. He had a cough too, but at least with the tape round his mouth no one would hear it. Children were so silly sometimes, getting ill. It would be better when he was a little older and his immune system was better developed.

She hoped he would be a bit better when she returned to get him. There were some things she had to do today, some things that hadn't been essential up until now, but now they needed doing. Once they were out of the way, she would come back for Matthew and they would leave, starting their new life, and a better life it would be for both of them. But first she had those things to do.

Emily was in the car already, her seat belt fastened and a thick scarf around her neck that Hotch identified as being one of Reid's. For the briefest moment, he felt a pang of jealousy, trying to brush it off like dandruff that just won't quite all go.

"Did you manage to get any more sleep?" he said to her as he got in the car. The wind was up today, the trees bending and bowing as if watching a Broadway show.

"Not really," she said, her voice lacking energy and she didn't make eye contact.

"You don't have to go today," Hotch said, the key in the ignition. "I can ask JJ instead." He'd decided last night, or rather early morning; that it must be Emily who was the UnSub's target, and not JJ whom he'd originally supposed. Given the news about Sophie he was reluctant to take Emily. He thought she'd be better at the safe house, sitting safely with Llewellyn and Garcia.

"No," she said, only now turning her head to look at him. "I need to do something, Hotch. I can't stay here doing nothing."

He nodded, understanding what she meant. "You need to make sure you are focused on what's going on around you. I'll be with you as much as I can, but I'm going to have to make a few calls and speak with the media." Agent Boyd had disappeared, something he had divulged to no one else on the team other than Rossi and Llewellyn, and as the case they were working on was only known by a handful of people, it was down to Hotch and Boyd's own team to investigate, beginning with a trip to Boyd's apartment later.

Emily nodded. "I'm always focused, Hotch."

He almost decided not to take her right then, but instead he let the fury he was now struggling to control dictate the speed at which he drove, setting off from the safe house in a storm of leaves. He regretted his words the night after she came out of hospital. He thought that keeping her at arm's length would make it easier on him when it came to situations that posed danger for them both. For the whole of today, until she was safely back at the safe house, he would be on pins, unable to be comfortable. But not being able to comfort her, to confess his fears, was making it worse.

The road through the forest widened ahead, creating room for a stopping point. He slowed suddenly and pulled the car off the road, leaving the engine on to maintain the heat. She looked at him, her eyes saddened by him, by Sophie, by the whole mess they were in.

"Hotch," she said. "I'm not going back. The local PD has asked us to continue to help them on this, and we need to give them a more detailed profile of Martha Moore..."

"I know you're not going back," he said, keeping his voice quiet. "I'm not asking you to, and I don't want you to. I'm not stopping because of that."

"Are you stopping because you've been a complete and utter idiot?" Her voice was sharp now, and he guessed there were other words she could have chosen. Idiot was fairly mild to what he'd heard from her before, although never about her boss.

He looked out of the windscreen and saw their reflections in the glass. "I guess I am."

She looked a little surprise at his lack of denial, or excuse.

"You want to explain why you decided to call it off? I suspect it's something to do with trying to 'protect' me, or making it easier to work together. However, I can't say that it's worked," she said, her voice snappish.

Hotch let go of the steering wheel and turned to her to look at her properly. "I didn't like the fact that I hadn't protected you." It was a confession. "I thought that by ending it, I'd start to feel that you were a colleague again."

Her eyes were defiant, and he knew he wasn't the one in control here. "Hotch, you haven't felt that way since the compound and Cyrus showed me the sole of his boots." There was a certain amount of humour in the words, as there was truth also. "And, since when are any of our team 'just colleagues'? I had you down as feeling more for us that just regulatory emotion."

She was goading him now, taking her revenge by making him feel bad. He'd never really thought she'd be capable of doing that, but then he guessed he didn't know quite everything about Emily Prentiss. But was he going to get the chance to learn more? Did he want to?

He was silent, looking back out of the window at the trees in front, their branches bare. "I regret saying what I did the other night," he said, after a few minutes had passed. "It's actually more difficult to not be with you, than it is to want to try and protect you all the time – which, I know, you don't need." He had thought about how she would react to these words, or very similar ones, but he couldn't decide on a definite outcome.

"I think we should carry on with our journey," she said, as if she hadn't heard him.

He nodded, putting the car into drive, and steering them back onto the road.

* * *

It was a surprise just how long it had taken them to realise Sophie was missing. He'd known they would realise immediately, but he'd expected it to be quicker than this. Her picture was on the news, and in a couple of papers that had gone to press later than others, asking for witnesses from the airport to come forward if they had seen Sophie Tucker meeting a man there.

There would be responses, he knew, but none would tally. It was too long ago for people to remember clearly, and their memories would be jumbled. He had nothing to fear from what they said.

The media was also starting to get wind of what was happening with the missing boy case. Alfie Fletcher's picture was on the front page of two local newspapers, and he was mentioned on page five of the New York Times. The main scandal was of his father's arrest for the murder of Jennifer Keeley, a brief description of the discovery of the body was given, but nothing was said about the BAU's involvement.

He sat back in the driver's seat, watching the hubbub that was going on a couple of hundred metres away. During the night, he'd taken a dog for a walk round, having a nosy at the house where Martha Moore had lived and her neighbour, where they had found the body of the officer who had rather stupidly taken Moore out of the hospital. He'd also found a rather nice place to view from, an old dear's house, who was so impressed to find out what was going on, she'd asked him round for mid-morning coffee.

It would give him an excellent view of any BAU members that might turn up.

His plans had changed somewhat in recent days; he was less uncertain about what he wanted to do, but the desire to capture his butterfly was becoming stronger. He should have had her years ago, and he would have done too, but for the people who blocked his way. He was pleased with how he'd hurt them so far, and the distress he would have caused, but that wasn't mattering than much now. He just wanted her.

Irritation and impatience dirtied his blood and added to his annoyance at the situation. He'd been stupid, driving her away. She'd have been easier to get hold of if she was still at the BAU every day, where he could see her. He hadn't realised just how seriously Strauss and Agent Hotchner would take his threats and the couple of things he'd done to scare them.

So he needed to draw them out of hiding. Well, maybe that wouldn't be too difficult, given how this case going that they were working on. They would start to look for Sophie as well, there was no way Emily would want any harm to come to her, which meant there would be less people around JJ. And there were other ways to move them from safety. He could think of plenty.

* * *

"You up for another drive later?"

Morgan looked up at Llewellyn as he came into the kitchen. "Think I'll pass on that for today. Your driving is definitely a good way to lose weight."

Llewellyn laughed, opening the cupboard where the cereal was kept and examining the box. He fascinated Morgan; he had some similar tendencies as Reid, but also had a more reckless side that for some reason reminded Morgan of Rossi. "You need help reading that?" Morgan said.

Llewellyn chuckled. "I can manage. You look at those photos I gave you? Anything spring to mind?"

About ten minutes ago, Morgan had been presented with four photographs, all FBI identity pictures that were used on security passes, along with each individual's name and position. He'd briefly looked at them, but hadn't come to any conclusion as of yet. "I've seen them, and I know all four, but I haven't given it a ton of thought yet," he said, studying Llewellyn's expression. "You're convinced the UnSub is one of these, aren't you?"

He nodded. "They all fit the profile you gave, and each one has at some point applied for a job in the BAU and failed to get it. None of them would have really had the skills for the job they applied for, which made me wonder whether there was another reason for them to want it. Two are currently on leave. I've left messages for both of their bosses, and asked them to call me back urgently."

"What time did you leave the messages?" Morgan said, looking at the photos while Llewellyn began to crunch his cereal. He hadn't bothered with milk.

"Just after three am," he said, waiting to he'd swallowed.

"You don't sleep, do you?" Morgan said with a laugh.

Llewellyn shrugged. "What do you know about them?"

Morgan raised an eyebrow. "David Henessey – works in Counter-Terrorism as a translator and requested a transfer to the BAU; Nick Ridings - works in Fingerprint and Criminal History records training, applied for Reid's post when it was advertised; Daniel Clarke – works in Technology Services and applied for the tech role that Garcia eventually got; and then we have Sean Billington who works in Firearms Training keeping the database updated and applied for the same role. I know all of these in one way or another, and you're right, they all fit the profile."

"Any of them hung around JJ a lot?"

Morgan squinted at Llewellyn. "That's Hotch's line, isn't it? He thinks JJ's the target."

"You don't agree?" Llewellyn said, putting down his cereal bowl.

"Given the fact that Sophie has been abducted, I'd have said it was more likely to be Emily. However, thinking back to the communication we've had from him, he seems to have blamed Emily for getting in the way. What if her getting in the way was the way she made JJ confess to her relationship with Will?" Morgan said, studying each photo more carefully now.

Llewellyn nodded. "Did you see more of one than the others?"

"These two," Morgan said, pointing to Sean Billington and Daniel Clarke. "We saw them a lot, whereas the other two guys were just around occasionally."

"That's good," Llewellyn said. He grabbed his pocket. "Excuse me, I have a call."

Morgan watched him leave the room, then stood up and stretched, ignoring the various shooting pains, and decided now was a good time to see Garcia, and find out if she had any more light to shed on these possible suspects.

* * *

_Please review!  
Sarah x_


	35. Chapter Thirty Four

_Thank you to those who have been reviewing! Reviews have dropped considerably since the story started, and I know a lot of that is because of the gaps between updates. That's unlikely to happen now, as the end of this story is not that far away - probably three weeks at a guess, and I am considering a mini case fic, just involving Hotch and Prentiss – you'll see where that fits in when you read this chapter. It would be nice though to get the reviews up to where they were, as it is disheartening when they drop off. Which brings me to say a MASSIVE thank you to those people who have reviewed every chapter, not only of this but of my other Criminal Minds fics as well, and to those who reviewed __**How Far Away the Stars – **__the extra bit will be with you tomorrow. If you a regular reviewer and I haven't sent you the extra HP bit, please let me know in a PM._

_This should be updated on Tuesday, as should __**Maybe Tomorrow**__._

_It's not been beta'd, so please excuse the typos._

_Enjoy – and please review. It does mean a lot to get feedback._

**Where the Blue of the Night**

" A man should look for what is, and not for what he thinks should be."

**- Albert Einstein**

**Chapter Thirty Four**

**November 9th**

Time trickles away like the last drops of water from a bottle on a hot day. But this was no hot day, and time was certainly not passing slowly.

He'd left his car a mile away, running through the park and looking like an ordinary jogger. He'd realised a long time ago that people tended to ignore joggers; they blended into the scenery, faceless, nameless. No one would ever think that they would commit a crime, they were too intent on getting fitter, toning up.

Martha Moore's picture was in the newspapers now. The police, and the FBI he supposed, wanted people to be on the lookout for her, noting where she was going, what she was doing, if she had altered her appearance at all. He knew she hadn't; he'd seen her last night, with the boy when he'd been looking for place to go when he needed to be out of sight for some length of time. He knew in which vicinity she was travelling in, but not quite where.

As soon as he had found the boy he would be able to collect his JJ. She would fly to him like he was honey, desperate to discover the child. He would be a hero, and he would have his prize.

But first, he had to find the boy. He had time, he had all the time it needed.

* * *

Emily bit the inside of her mouth and muffled a moan as Hotch pulled up outside Mulberry Police Department. He turned to her automatically, looking at her with concern.

"You okay?" he said. There was no hint of a grudge in his tone, and the warmth that he had been so good at producing inside her returned.

She nodded. "Just bit the inside of my mouth. Think I've got a bit of an ulcer," she said, not letting any of the frustration she felt with him seep into her voice. They'd been quite for much of the journey, only conversing about the tactics they were going to take in the field, keeping the topic solely about work. It was half way to being awkward, but something stopped it from fully getting there and she suspected it was because they only half meant to be cool with each other.

Emily didn't hold grudges; she wasn't built that way, and neither was Hotch. But she couldn't yet bring herself to tell him that she forgave him. She wanted him to suffer a little too, like she had, for this was real life and not some fairy tale where they would live happily ever after.

They were active agents, and there would be times when one of them got hurt. He had to know that he couldn't simply walk away because he couldn't deal with the fact that he hadn't protected her. That was just a fact of their lives; they would get hurt.

"It's because you're run down," he said. "This case – Utah, South Dakota, before that even – we haven't stopped for weeks and we're all too tired. As soon as we can leave the safe house we're all on leave for three weeks. Strauss confirmed it when I spoke with her last night."

Emily nodded, suddenly feeling as if she wanted to burst into tears. It was exhaustion; physical and mental exhaustion. She coped with most things well enough; as an ambassadors' daughter she'd had to, but Sophie's disappearance was the thing that could finish her off.

She'd needed Hotch last night, more than she'd ever thought she'd need anyone. She'd needed someone to lie next to her, to lie to her, tell her that everything was going to be alright because they would have found Sophie by the morning, and for some small amount of time she could have taken some comfort. But instead she'd been alone, and at in the darkest hours that come just before dawn, she'd realised just how dependant she'd become upon him in such a short space of time.

It should have been enough to scare her, but the only terrifying thing now was the thought of these three weeks without him being there.

"That's good," she said, holding herself together. "What about Morgan?"

"Reid's worked something on Strauss. He's requested that any inquiry be dropped, and he's managed it. I have no idea how, but Morgan's off the hook officially," Hotch said. The car was in park, but he had made no attempt to get out yet.

"Hotch," she said, needing this battle to be over. "I can't deal with everything that's going on right now, including this fight. It needs to give."

He nodded, looking at her, his hands tight on the steering wheel. "Shall we put the other night behind us for now, and talk about when we have those three weeks?"

Her heart lightened instantly, and she nodded. "Don't think you're off the hook," she said. "I mean it."

He grabbed her hand, squeezing it. "We need to go in. We're late already."

Emily nodded, getting out of the car, feeling as if the ache inside her had dulled a little.

* * *

It was the boredom that was the worst thing. Sophie had had enough of the four walls that had enclosed her for what felt like forever. She was pretty certain that nothing was going to happen to her, not at his hands anyway as he would have done it by now.

There wasn't much food left, and she didn't know if he intended to replenish her cupboards anytime soon, so she'd tried to spin out what she had. This meant she couldn't even comfort eat like she had done a little at first, meaning there was pretty much nothing at all to do right now.

Sophie stood up and stretched, looking about the room which she was pretty sure she now knew like the back of her hand. The bookcases, the drawers and cupboards, the shelves... all of it was too familiar. She stretched her leg and kicked the sofa she had been sleeping on, preferring it to the bed which was a little lumpy. Her big toe met something hard and she bent down, lifting the material that covered the sofa and found two drawers.

Her heart began to pound. Okay, she had no idea what was in them, but it was something to alleviate the boredom. She pulled open the one closest and found photographs; photographs of people she recognised, one person in particular. JJ; Agent Jareau. She'd already figured that he was fixated by her, but not quite this much. They went back years.

Sophie began to look through them all, piling them neatly. When they found her, these would be evidence, and a means to study him. Some of the photos had been defaced, especially pictures of JJ's boyfriend or fiancé or whatever – he'd been scribbled out completely. Some words had been written next to the other BAU members. He'd called Garcia an imposter; Morgan a traitor and Emily a bitch several times.

Sophie pulled out the other drawer, and felt a more intense rush of blood to the head when she saw what was in there. Print outs, some old, and handwritten notes, all on bomb making.

And there, in the corner of the drawer, was a device that ceased any sort of boredom. A small red light flickered a warning while she looked at it open mouthed, changing her mind to back away when she saw the handwritten number 5 on a sticky label next to it.

There were four more.

But where, and what could she do about it?

* * *

The small room was packed. Mulberry PD was the centre point of four small areas that were all policed by different departments. It also had the biggest bullpen, and was the logical choice in which to get as many officers as possible to brief them on Martha Moore.

Hotch felt his usual calmness return as they walked into the packed room, heading to the front where Detective Gruber was, the man who had been told to coordinate the search. He longed for five more minutes alone with Emily, but that wasn't going to happen for a good few hours, and the anticipation of that wait hung heavy on his shoulders.

"Agent Hotchner," Gruber said, offering his hand. "We've spoken several times. I appreciate you coming as I believe there are some difficulties at the moment."

Hotch nodded. "I'm sorry you can't have specific details. This is Agent Emily Prentiss. We'd like to get started as soon as possible and then your officers can resume their search."

Gruber nodded. "The floor's yours. I'll get their attention."

His bellow was enough to stop a parade, and Hotch cast Emily a quick look while the attention was off then. She still looked pale, although her expression was a little softer now. "You start," he said quietly.

"Sure," she said. The room fell silent, eyes flitting between himself and Emily. Sometimes, officers expected a profile to give a miraculous result, and then they were disappointed. A profile could guide them in the right direction, show them under which stones to look, and then could assist in closing a case neatly, but it still came down to good detective skills, hard work and intelligence. "Martha Moore is suspected of the abduction and murder of three other children around the same age as Alfie Fletcher. She is unable to have children herself due to an incident in her past and has a mission to find a child she perceives as needing her as a mother. Martha seeks children whose parents she thinks are unfit because of their lifestyles and targets them with letters and stalking over a period of months before abducting the child.

"She is not concerned with gender, and as far as we are aware, she keeps the children alive up until a certain point. We suspect that she delves into a delusional state where she believes that the child is tainted by the parents, becoming ill because of bad genes rather than the fact she isn't looking after them. Alfie is being kept somewhere unfitting for a child, and is possibly being drugged or bound in order to stop him drawing attention."

Hotch stood forward. "You are looking for an unusual place, not somewhere you would keep a child for any length of time. It is somewhere Martha will be familiar with although it won't be somewhere obvious. We are circulating a list of places that she had connections with, or where her husband has connections, but this list is by no means comprehensive. Speak with people she knows, find out where she goes on a day to day basis. It is almost impossible that she has taken Alfie out of the area, and it is unlikely she will do as she is only comfortable in the things that she finds familiar."

He moved slightly to the side so Emily could finish speaking. "Martha is aware that she is being looked for. It is unknown whether she has found out that we have discovered the body of Officer Bergamon, although it would not bother her if she knows we have. She considers the police to be beneath her, and her exploits to be justified. She will have no guilt for what she has done, and she will feel no remorse. When you find her, she will not hesitate to harm you as she feels that she is completely in the right.

"There is also nothing to say Martha will not leave Alfie if there is another mission for her to pursue. At the moment, she has no grasp on reality and will not consider leaving him without food and water an issue. If she thinks she has been 'wronged' in some way, she will attempt to take revenge. Her mental state is highly unhinged and she will not see the consequences of any of her actions."

Hotch finished with some basic details, explaining the finer points and giving a few more tips on where to look. They left as soon as the discussion began, Gruber's voice booming over the officers' for quiet while their detail was given. They were heading to two other buildings that Martha Moore had connections with, following Gruber and one of his officers. They had been a late night discovery of Kevin's; an old, disused church hall where Martha used to help run a Sunday school, and a scout hut where John Moore helped with some of the activities. They didn't believe that Martha was hiding Alfie in either of these now, but that they might have been used at some point during his time held captive.

Hotch asked Emily to drive, his cell phone feeling uncomfortably hot in his pocket. Boyd had still not turned up, even after countless messages had been left by Llewellyn and himself. He'd gone off the grid to the extent that Llewellyn was talking about having an APB go out on his car.

During the profile he'd felt his phone vibrate, but he hadn't answered it, knowing that his part would be over soon, and he'd be able to call almost straight back.

He'd been surprised when he'd seen who the call was from, then less so when there was no immediate answer. Something was amiss, and Hotch had a feeling that whatever was bad before, was just about to get worse on many levels.

If only he knew.


	36. Chapter Thirty Five

_Thank you for the reviews on the previous chapter! I will probably do an update of __**Maybe Tomorrow **__in the next couple of days._

_The extra HP scene for those who reviewed __**How Far Away the Stars**__ will be with you later on today. It's a little delayed just because real life got in the way._

_My beta's on holiday, so all mistakes are mine (they usually are anyway!)_

_Please review – I'll post the next chapter of this as soon as I've reached a secret number of reviews..._

_Blackmail... love it!_

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"The range of what we think and do is limited by what we fail to notice. And because we fail to notice that we fail to notice, there is little we can do to change; until we notice how failing to notice shapes our thoughts and deeds."

**- R.D. Laing**

**Chapter Thirty Five**

**November 9th**

There was still no answer from Boyd's cell phone, and it appeared that it was now switched off. Hotch inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a split second while he regained control. This was something he could do without; a rogue agent, to whom something may have happened.

He called a different number, this time Garcia's, and asked for the whereabouts of Boyd's phone the last time it had been active. She called back within a matter of seconds and broke news to him that wasn't entirely unexpected; Boyd had last used his phone at Agent Karl Calzaghe's house, a man Boyd had had several confrontations with over the past few years, since Boyd had accidentally shot his brother when both were training at the academy.

Calzaghe had never shown any aggression towards Boyd, but Boyd had always been a little obsessed with the idea that Calzaghe would seek revenge, and it had been a natural assumption for Boyd to think that he was behind the murder of Mansfield. Hotch mentally kicked himself several times; they should have had better tabs on Boyd, kept more of a watch on him, not let him pursue his own theories as he had been doing.

But there simply hadn't been enough time, or manpower to watch the watchers. "We need to make a detour," Hotch said to Emily. "5981 Oakgrove. It's about twenty five minutes from here."

"At my speed or yours?" she said. He knew she would have gotten to drift of what had happened from the half conversation she'd heard.

"I'll call Gruber and let him know he's on his own for this one," Hotch said, programming the satellite navigation system for the address Garcia had given him. He wasn't sure if Boyd would be there, or what might have happened to Calazghe, whose cell phone was also dead.

It took less than twenty five minutes to get there, mainly because Emily could drive quicker than him when she put her foot to it. Calzaghe's house was still, seemingly empty, and Hotch had that strange sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach which he often got when he knew he was there too late.

"I'm going to call this in," he said to Emily, who was looking at the house from across him.

She nodded. "I don't think we're going to like what we find here," she said. "Are we going in, or waiting for back up?"

Hotch thought about it for a moment. A back up team would take too long to wait for and then debrief. It also meant more people knowing about what was going on with his unit, and that was something he was trying to avoid if possible.

"We go in," he said. "I don't expect any threat to be made to us. If Boyd has taken justice into his own hands with Calzaghe, it's unlikely he'd try to attack us. We'll go in through the front and I'll lead."

He'd noticed that the front door was slightly ajar. It hadn't been closed properly, suggesting a rushed entrance. Emily followed him to the house, her weapon already drawn. Any signs of her injuries, and stiffness were already gone, and he was confident that she would be more than able to take care of herself, as she'd always been before. The slight worry didn't stop though, but he tried to push it away, to let it find another outlet later on.

Hotch shouted for both Boyd and Calzaghe as he entered, hearing nothing back. They went through each room downstairs, backing each other up as they carried out the search and he realised how much he really did trust her to have his back. It was instinctive work, and they managed most of the search without speaking, working off gestures, eye contact and intuition as to where the other was going to move. It was natural to develop this sort of speechless communication with someone when you had worked with them for a long time, especially since they had both undergone the same rigorous training, but there was something easier than doing this with Morgan or Rossi, definitely than with Reid.

Her eyes looked to the staircase, and Hotch began to ascend. The house was too still, but there was certainly someone in there. "Boyd," he said, pushing open the first door he came to. No one there.

It was the same with the second, a small bedroom that had been transformed into a computer games room. That too was empty.

Then Hotch heard movement, and he followed the sound to what would be the master bedroom. He pushed the door open, letting Emily cover him, and then they both put down their weapons.

Boyd sat there, one hand in the air, the other on a woman lay next to him, her eyes glassy.

"She's still alive," he said, his voice not entirely clear. "I didn't shoot to kill her. He's dead though, Calzaghe. He won't be able to hunt you anymore."

Hotch looked at Boyd, feeling almost nauseous with the scene in front of him. There were signs of overkill. Too much blood, too much anger implicit in the echoes of Boyd's actions. "Who's the girl?" Hotch said.

"Calzaghe's girlfriend. Don't know her name. He has a lot of women on the go at once," Boyd said, his voice staccato.

"Why did you shoot her?" Hotch said, still standing near the door while Emily called in the scene.

"She got in the way."

There was more to it than that, but Boyd was starting to dry up, almost entering a fugue state in order to protect his mind from what he'd done. "Boyd," Hotch said, hearing sirens in the distance. "Calzaghe wasn't our UnSub."

"He was," Boyd said. "Your team wasn't the target. It was mine. Me. He wanted revenge for what I did to his brother, so he went for Mansfield. Then he would have picked us off one by one. I won't be charged for this, will I? I stopped him. You can all go home now. Home."

Hotch backed away. He'd seen Boyd's two weapons at the other side of the room, and the man showed no sign of wanting to reach them. Saying nothing, he let the detective who had just entered the room carry out the official arrest, knowing that it would be handed over to the FBI's Internal Affairs who would investigate. Questions would be asked, especially of the Boyd and Mansfield's supervisory agents, and whoever had passed the psych eval on Boyd, which Hotch knew to have been Agent Gideon just before he left the BAU.

But all of that was for another day. Hotch glanced at Emily and nodded for her to exit. They still had two UnSubs on the loose, and time was not going any slower.

* * *

It had been a successful hour. He'd located the boy, who didn't appear to be in a particularly good way, and seemed to have been left there for some time. The silly woman had actually left food and water for him, although his mouth was taped shut and his hands and feet were bound.

He'd had a choice at that point. It was his duty to protect , and by not yet calling in the boy's whereabouts, he wasn't quite doing that. But he figured that since he was off duty, he could ignore it. He wasn't exacerbating the situation, and by tomorrow, he'd make sure the kid was found.

He'd then returned home and picked up a few items that he now intended to store elsewhere. Four of them to be precise. Each one carefully well crafted to the best of his ability. One had been planted in the Mulberry police department bull pen; an easy matter to get inside and find the locker of an officer who had been off sick for several months and plant it in there. Now it was just for the other three.

It had been hard work, thinking of places where to put them, but he'd managed it. And it would be worth it, as they were the promise of nectar that would keep his butterfly with him for just long enough so that she realised what her true fate should be.

* * *

Martha Moore had left early, holding a set of keys tightly in her hand. No one had noticed her, although there had been a strange looking jogger who had run passed and had given her an odd look. However, she was pretty convinced that he wouldn't have recognised her. She knew she had an unremarkable face; her ex-husband and her father had both delighted in telling her so, although never put quite like that, of course.

She liked the streets in the early hours of the morning when few people were about. It was one of the reasons why she used to go to school early, get set up in her classroom for the day before anyone else, including the principal, had even pulled into the parking lot. She liked the quietness, the peace, the lack of distraction so that preparing for the day was easier.

And today she had a lot to prepare for. She had realised on the way to school that Matthew wasn't going to live. He was headed the same way as the others, his genes tainted with badness. He wasn't the right one for her.

But she had been trying for this for years; to find the perfect child, studying one for months, looking at it, watching it, getting to know it, and it hadn't yet worked. She had to try another method, maybe taking a few children and seeing which ones were right, were the ones she was meant to have. The ones that were strong enough for her. Maybe she'd end up with two or three children, brothers and sisters. A proper family.

It seemed ridiculous now. The answer was the place where she went each day, where she taught a class full of children. She knew them all, every single one of them; it should have been her first port of call really, instead of messing about all these years. And she had to do it quickly because she had to get out of here, or at least lie low enough so that everyone would forget.

They would forget.

Just like they had forgotten what her husband and father and done to her.

* * *

Llewellyn looked at the fax that had just come through regarding Daniel Clark. His boss had had the good sense to not email it, and had since suspended Clark's account so it couldn't be used to hack into anymore files that he had been accessing without permission. Garcia and Lynch had both agreed that this was unlikely to stop him, he clearly knew his way around a computer, and would simply hack into the account of one of his colleagues and use that instead, so they'd decided to stalk him on line, using some program of Garcia's that Lynch kept exclaiming about in a what seemed to be a foreign language.

Daniel Clark was recently divorced; his wife having left him after a series of affairs. He now lived alone in his marital house, but also looked after a portfolio of properties which were left to him by his parents who had been investors. Most of the properties were currently on the market, a move that would see Clark not having to work if he so chose.

There were other details that made him the person whom the profile seemed to fit like a glove. His computer records showed absence from work on certain key dates, and at times when he appeared to be at his computer and their UnSub would have had to have been elsewhere, Garcia figured a program was being run that would make it appear that the computer was being used.

This needed to be passed over to someone now, and with Boyd still being absent without leave, Llewellyn decided that the next point of call as Hotch was out, was Rossi. He slipped away from his desk and walked down the stairs, his feet sinking into carpet that he found far too cushioned for his liking, and began to look for Rossi.

He wasn't in the lounge or kitchen, or in the downstairs study which Rossi had claimed as his own. Llewellyn managed to find JJ, who was just coming out of the downstairs bathroom with Henry. He asked her if she had seen Rossi.

"He's gone with Will to re-interview John Moore. Have you tried his cell?" she said. He noticed the diaper bag in her hand and his nose wrinkled. He disliked strong smells, and that looked as if it might have one. "Sorry," she said. "Downside of the job."

"I'll try and call him now," Llewellyn said, making a speedy getaway back to his desk. He dialled Rossi's cell three times, but there was no answer. He left a message, figuring that Rossi was probably in his interview already, and he hoped he would check his messages first chance he had.

* * *

_Before I forget, I have set up a C2 Community called 'Hiding from Strauss' where Hotch/Prentiss stories will be archived, so if you're looking for a decent HP fic in the future you can have a look there if you like. If there are any stories you think should be in it, then please PM me, or mention it in a review. You can recommend your own fics as well. I've not had a great deal of time yet to add in all the ones I want, but point me in the direction of yours if you will._

_I answer some questions for the Chit Chat forum too, if anyone is interested!_

_Sarah x_


	37. Chapter Thirty Six

_A/N: Thank you to those who have reviewed the last chapter. Now if a few more of the eighty of you who have this story on alert review you'd make me VERY happy :) Remember you can review even if you don't have an account or aren't logged in – and not just for this story – all authors love reviews!_

_I'll certainly update at the weekend, once I've done a second chapter of Maybe Tomorrow._

_Please have a look at the Chit Chat on Author's Corner Forum. Tonnie and ilovetvalot are thinking of running a CM awards and they'd like your opinions. _

_Enjoy, and thank you for reading, and to everyone who has reviewed so far, thank you so much – this is now my most reviewed story!_

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"Evil is the product of the ability of humans to make abstract that which is concrete."

**- Jean-Paul Sartre**

**Chapter Thirty Six**

**November 9****th**

People rarely look up to notice the dust accumulating on a top shelf, or a spider, resting on its web as it has been for days. They usually forget to look down also, missing the lost and forgotten that has dropped under their feet; the earring, the odd dime, the important phone number on a scrap of paper. It was something Rossi had understood more over the years; people fail to notice the things that are just outside of their line of site, looking in the places they're used to, never changing what they see.

He'd once dated an elementary school teacher, many moons ago, somewhere between his second and third wife. She'd had more sense that to marry him, although he had asked, and she was preoccupied with her job.

"Children," she'd once said, "become pigeon holed. If they're deemed early on as having a learning difficulty, or not being good at math, no one ever expects that to change. They're never given the harder paper; instead they're stuck with the easier version all the way through, a ceiling placed on how high they can achieve."

He knew it was the same with people's perceptions of those they knew; they expected them to behave in certain ways, and always notice the expected behaviour. Anything new would often be easily dismissed, or ignored if it was too difficult to deal with. Or just not noticed.

Rossi listened carefully to John Moore's answers, Will's Southern American English accent softly breaking down his fears. Moore expected different things from LaMontagne; he was a friend rather than an investigator, and he wasn't there to judge. Or so Moore thought.

"Has Martha done anything recent that's been strange for her?" Will said, the drawn out syllables acting as a relaxant on Moore.

Moore shook his head. "No. I don't think so."

He wasn't looking anywhere other than where he was used to. Any question of guilt had been almost wiped away; he'd seemed genuinely horrified by the things his wife was accused of, and Rossi considered himself a good enough judge as to whether someone was acting or not.

"It could be something small; going out at unusual times; buying extra food..."

"She bought another lunch box the other day. Said it was for a boy in her class who wasn't getting any food from home but I thought nothing of it. She often did things like that for people. She was kind. That's why I... married her," he looked at the table, his face frozen, his expression one of shock. He was not going to get over this for a long time, if ever.

"What did Martha say about having her own children?" Will said. He was sat back almost lazily, and Rossi felt as if his demeanour was like a soporific. He had always been a successful detective however, and although he never raced through things, he reached the end in good time.

"She couldn't," Moore said. "She never said why, but I figured it was something to do with her ex-husband. He was older than her; a friend of her father's, I think, and she didn't get on well with her dad. I asked her about it a couple of times, but she would react so badly, I stopped trying."

Will nodded. "Why didn't she adopt?"

"She said you never knew what you were going to get, and that she was too old anyhow. I tried to tell her that it was untrue, that any child would be wonderful with her as a mom, and that we weren't too old, but she wouldn't even consider it. I asked if she wanted to foster – I thought she'd be really good at that, but that was something else she wouldn't talk about," he said, it spilling out like sand from a bag. "She won't have done this. She wouldn't hurt a child."

"What makes you think that?" Will said. Rossi had briefed him on the drive there; what sorts of questions to ask, what sort of responses. They talked about which topics to hang on, and on which not to dwell.

"She was always so nice with them," he said, looking baffled.

"Was she nice with Alfie?" Will said, sitting up, shifting his body slightly closer.

Moore clearly didn't know how to answer that, and instead of responding, he simply looked like a deer stood in an illuminated field.

"John, look, I know you don't want to believe this, but it is likely that Martha has killed at least a cop and is holding a small boy hostage. You are her husband and you are implicated in this whether you've helped her openly or not. I suggest you answer the question," Will said, his voice a little more awake.

Moore looked worried. "She spoke to him for ages every time she saw him. She would even take him sweets and small toys. I was nice to him to – I like kids – but I did get a bit fed up when she would spend so long talking to him when I wanted to get home to do stuff."

"Stuff like what?" Will said. Moore wasn't a bright man and he needed to be encouraged to articulate what he meant.

"Making things. Bookcases, tables, furniture, I guess. It's what I like to do."

"Martha ever ask you to make anything for her?" Will said.

"Sure. I made most of the furniture in our house. She never asked me to make anything else though. Sometimes I don't think she liked what I did. She'd have preferred it if I had a professional job like a bank manager or something. But that was never going to be me, you know," Moore said, his face softening slightly.

"Do you have any idea of where she might go?"

He shook his head. "You've checked the neighbour's house that she was looking after? And all round our house? There was nowhere else she liked, apart from the parks. She'd spend hours walking round them, talking to the children and their parents. If I thought I knew where she would be I'd tell you. I know now that she'll be safer when you've found her, then we can sort all this mess out."

"You think she might hurt herself?" Will said slowly, giving time for Moore to think.

Moore shrugged. "She can get very upset sometimes. She's locked herself in the bathroom before with some tablets and I've had to knock down the door and make her be sick, else she would have ended up at the ER. It's never happened a lot, but I'm real worried about her, sir."

"We're trying to find her. In the meantime, we need to ask you to stay here." Will had stood up and headed to the door.

"Am I under arrest?"

Will shook his head. "No, not right now. But the detective in charge needs to decide where he wants you to be. Martha may try to head back to you. Someone will be with you soon."

Rossi nodded at Will as he exited the room. "You did a good job. What was your opinion of him?"

"Not very bright and clearly loves her. I would put money on her using him to some degree rather than it being a genuine relationship," Will said.

"I agree. Although Martha wouldn't. I get the feeling that she thinks she is untouchable and beyond reproach. Something in her past, possibly with her father or husband or both, has made her feel that she is owed, and therefore won't be punished, because she has been punished enough," Rossi said.

"You think it was a bit strange, that she had married a friend of her poppa's?" Will said, looking back toward the interview room.

Rossi turned his mouth down, shrugging slightly. "It's not normal. If she had fallen in love with him, then fine. But she was only sixteen when they married; then she disappears from any records for around fifteen years, so we can't say what sort of life she had." He stopped momentarily. "I'll get my phone and call Hotch, let him know what we've found out."

Rossi made his way to where he'd left his jacket, putting his hand in the inside pocket to get his phone. He looked around on the floor, frowning.

"What's the matter?" Will said.

"My phone's gone," he said. "Shit."

"I'll ring Llewellyn and let him know. He'll have it cancelled," Will said.

"Excuse me, sir," a voice came from the corner. "Is this your phone? It was on the floor – I was about to hand it in once I'd finished."

Rossi gave a quick nod to the man who was filling up the drink dispenser. "That's solved a few problems. Cheers."

They left without a second thought.

* * *

Sophie was reading. It was better than kicking herself, or shaking in a corner, or sitting there bored. And the reading material wasn't uninteresting. It was about explosives, something she hadn't been that knowledgeable about, but that had changed in the past however many hours since the clock had stopped.

She put down the pile of papers and looked about the room. From the notes and diagrams she'd been studying, she knew her captor had stayed in this room himself; it had been his home for awhile. There had to be another way out, something she wasn't thinking of. There were no bolts on the other side of the door that she could remember. It was just a key – she could recall hearing the lock turn as clear as day. But what if you lost your keys – there had to be another exit. Had to.

Sophie stood up and began to try to move furniture she'd previous thought was fixed. Her sense of direction had been warped, and she wasn't sure which wall was the side of the front of the house was. She forced back the heavy bookcase, sliding it along the floor with books tumbling off it as if an earthquake was happening. She was sweating now, a finger bleeding where her nail had been bent too far back, and she'd briefly heard a rip where her clothes had been torn. But she had a second wind, a massive rush of energy and determination to get out of there. She knew what he was planning, at least, she'd knew what his plans had been, and she had to tell someone. Fast.

* * *

It had been easy to show a falsified identity card and slip into the bullpen, then the changing room. Just as easy as it had been to find out where Martha Moore's husband was being held. It seemed Llewellyn and the technical analysts knew who he was now, or at least had an idea. His user account had been suspended, which meant he'd had to hack into someone else's account to get the information he needed. But that wasn't difficult either, and because he knew where they were going to look, he'd found the account from elsewhere. Andrew Dennis was a newbie agent who was currently on holiday in Hawaii and he doubted anyone would think of tracing his account. No one would associate them together, unless they had seen them having a couple of quick discussions in the gym about football. He doubted that.

It was almost lunch, and he was debating leaving his hiding spot to make himself and a Rosie a quick sandwich when a car pulled up with a driver and passenger who were immediately recognisable.

"You want a coffee, Agent Smith?" he heard Rosie say from the back room where she had been watching daytime TV that he couldn't stand.

"That would be lovely," he shouted back, aware that her hearing wasn't all it would have been a decade ago. He'd told her he was an FBI agent simply because she'd understood what it was better than describing what he actually did. And besides, by the time he'd saved the boy and turned in Martha Moore, and had JJ's testimony about how much of a hero he was, he was pretty sure they'd make him an agent straight away. There was the small matter of Mansfield, but he was pretty sure that would be overlooked, all things considered.

He peered out of the window, making sure he couldn't be seen from outside. There was a lot of commotion going on outside Martha Moore's house, with officers seemingly surrounding it. He saw Agent Hotchner climb out of his car, followed by Prentiss, and they headed over to the guy who seemed to be charge.

From what he could make out, they thought that Martha Moore was inside the house. Someone had seen movement upstairs, a figure near the window.

He froze, hoping she'd had more sense that to go back home.

Agent Hotchner and Prentiss went inside, followed by some of the ordinary officers. It was only a couple of minutes of less before a man was brought outside, handcuffed and snarling.

He recognised him as being one of the journalists that had started hanging round the place, looking for the next big headline. Heads would undoubtedly roll as to how he'd got in there in the first place, but Dan could guess: not all police officers were satisfied with their salaries.

His hand twitched as he again saw the vehicle that Agent Hotchner had been driving. It had been parked almost directly outside Rosie's house and without thinking, he slipped the door onto the catch and walked down the path, unnoticed. He wasn't remarkable in the slightest, and he'd done enough to his appearance in the past few days to make himself look different that he had appeared at work. His fairish hair was now dark; he had a beard and wore coloured contact lenses. He'd also been growing his hair for the past couple of months, with no one having said anything because – well, they just hadn't.

He bent down and looked under the car, seeing the perfect place to put number two. It didn't take very long, and when he looked over to Martha Moore's house he could still see Hotchner and Prentiss talking with the detective in charge.

He smiled as he went back inside Rosie's, smelling the freshly brewed coffee. It had been a successful morning, and if what he had done with Rossi's phone worked, he'd soon be able to log on to his laptop and find exactly where that safe house was.

* * *

Martha could hear someone else doing the roll call. Calleigh Buckley was absent again; she hoped she hadn't had another asthma attack. Nobody should be doing her roll call. She was the teacher of this class. No one else.

Standing outside the door, she could hear her pupils. Someone was whispering, probably Janie. She waited, hearing the substitute teacher begin to speak. She didn't recognise the voice. Someone she didn't know. Someone who would be no good for her pupils. Her babies.

She pushed open the door slowly, rows of little faces turning to look at who was entering. The substitute gasped, her jaw dropping down. A couple of the children looked scared. They must have been told stories by Mrs Peachman. They should know that she'd never hurt them.

"Well, children," she said. "Shall we have a story?"


	38. Chapter Thirty Seven

_A/N; Enjoy, please review and I'll update soon. Short chapter, busy weekend. Longer one next._

_Thank you to all my gorgeous, lovely, inspirational reviewers. I'll try and have another little HP oneshot for you by the end of the week._

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it."

**- Terry Pratchett **

**Chapter Thirty Seven**

**November 9****th**

"I don't think you should be here," the substitute teacher said. Molly watched her face; she looked scared. She wondered if she should be scared too. But it was only Mrs Moore who had come in, who was their real teacher anyway. There was no reason to be scared of her.

"Where else should I be?" Mrs Moore said. "This is my classroom. These are my pupils. They _need_ me..."

"Robert," the substitute said, looking at the boy who was monitor for the day. His name was the first on the register, so he was always chosen whenever Mrs Moore wasn't their teacher. It made Molly mad, because she was second on the register, which meant it was never her. "Can you go fetch the principal? I think he will want to speak to Mrs Moore."

"No, Robbie, he won't. Sit back down." Mrs Moore walked up behind him and suddenly Molly felt scared. Mrs Moore looked funny. Her hair didn't look neat like it usually did.

She heard Jemima make a low noise, a bit like she was about to cry. Jemima wasn't tough; she cried when you pulled her pigtails even very gently, which Marissa and Jude did loads, and sometimes not too gently either.

Robert had sat back down, and was looking from one adult to the other, unsure who he was meant to listen to. For the first time ever, Molly was glad she was second on the roll call.

"Mrs Moore. I'm Sally O'Hare. I don't think we've met before, but the children have told me what a wonderful teacher you are. Why don't we let them play outside for ten minutes or so, and you can fill me in with some details about the class?" Ms O'Hare's voice sounded wobbly, and she was standing a little too straight. Molly watched what Mrs Moore was doing; she was tapping on the back of Robert's chair, her fingernails hitting it hard. Usually, Molly knew, there would have been a great deal of excitement from everyone at the idea of playing outside, but no one moved. It seemed everyone was a little scared.

"Ms O'Hare, you don't need to be here. I will teach the children their lesson, which will be much better than them playing out. I have things I need to do with them, and it would be better if you weren't here," Mrs Moore said.

Robert started to cry, and Molly saw that Mrs Moore's nails were now tapping the back of his neck. She didn't know if it was enough to hurt him, but she could see he was scared. She looked at Ross who usually picked on Robert and saw that he looked worried too. It made her feel a bit better; Ross might not tease Robert for crying if he was frightened too.

"Don't be such a baby," Mrs Moore said, moving her hand away.

The door into the room opened slightly, and Molly saw the principal through the glass. Quicker than she had ever seen her move before, Mrs Moore was there, and the principal went away. There was a glint of something in Mrs Moore's hand before it disappeared and Molly stared at it. It reminded her of her daddy's gun. He'd taken it out to polish it a couple of times when he thought she wasn't around. Her daddy was a police officer. She wondered if he knew that Mrs Moore was here.

"Ms O'Hare, I think you should go."

All of a sudden Molly felt like jelly. She didn't want the substitute teacher to go. She didn't know her, and didn't like the way she kept pushing her glasses up her nose, which was a bit long like a witch's, but she didn't want her to leave them. Mrs Moore seemed weird today, and the chair tapping had made Molly worried.

Ms O'Hare shook her head. "No, Mrs Moore, I think I'll stay. I don't mind if you do the teaching and I'll be your assistant for the day. I lose out on pay if I go, you see." The smile that Ms O'Hare made seemed odd too. Molly pressed her lips together then looked at her friend Erin who sat next to her. Erin looked white, a bit like she had put her brother's make up on again.

Molly pulled her long hair out of her ribbon and let it drop across her face. "Are you okay?" she whispered very quietly to Erin. It had been Erin's birthday party at the weekend, so now they were both eight, which Molly figured would make them even better friends.

Erin shook her head. "This is weird," she said. Then Erin put her hand up.

"Yes, Erin?" Mrs Moore said, ignoring Ms O'Hare.

"Please may I go to the bathroom?" Erin said.

Molly noticed that Mrs Moore looked twitchy. It was a word she'd heard her daddy use when they'd had workmen doing improvements on the house, and he hadn't liked one of the men. She knew what he meant now. Mrs Moore's eyes kept flicking up to the door and the windows.

"I'm sorry, Erin, but you'll have to wait until recess. You should have gone before school started," Mrs Moore said. She'd picked up a pen now, and was starting to write on the board.

Erin put her hand up again. "Mrs Moore, I know it's not polite to say, but I think I have a poorly tummy."

Molly say Erin bite her lips together. She was scared, Molly could tell; scared that she might not make it to the bathroom in time and scared that Mrs Moore would shout. She sent her friend a sympathetic look.

"Erin James," Mrs Moore shook her head. "Then why have you come into school today? You'll be passing a bug around to everyone in this room. Do your parents have no shame?"

Molly saw Erin's eyes begin to fill up with tears.

"Children. You all know that we should come to school every day; but if we are unwell it is not fair on our friends to share our germs. Erin: you must go and sit in the cloakroom. I will come see you in five minutes and set you some work. You are not to mix with everyone else," Mrs Moore said. Molly noticed that she sounded more angry than ever before.

Erin nodded and stood up, looking like she was shaking. Molly wondered if she should ask to follow her, check she was okay, but she didn't dare ask. Mrs Moore was still glaring at the chair where Erin had been sitting.

"Mrs Moore," Ms O'Hare said. "Don't you think we should maybe call Erin's mom and have her come pick Erin up?"

"I think, Ms O'Hare, that you should remember who is the teacher here, and then mind your own business. These are my children, and I shall look after them as best fit," Mrs Moore said, her voice scary. Molly looked around the room. Not one of her classmates was messing about. They were all sat perfectly still, looking straight ahead at the board.

"Shall I go check on Erin then, Mrs Moore?" Ms O'Hare said. "And let you get started with the work?"

"No," Mrs Moore said. "Erin will be fine."

"I think I should go see..."

"I said no."

Ms O'Hare stood anyway.

"Sit back down!"

Molly saw two of the girls in her class begin to cry.

Then she saw the gun for real this time, as Mrs Moore pulled it out of her pocket and pointed it at Ms O'Hare. "Look what you've made me do. It's upsetting the children."

Ms O'Hare turned the colour of snow. "I'm sorry, Mrs Moore. I'll sit down." Molly realised that she was crying.

She put her hand up, sitting up straight like her teacher had told her many times.

"Yes, Molly?" The gun was still out.

"Would you like me to give out the reading books, Mrs Moore?" Molly said. Her heart was thudding so hard in her chest she felt like she was going to fall over.

Mrs Moore smiled, but it didn't really look like Mrs Moore. "Yes please, Molly. That would be a big help." Molly stood, finding her legs surprisingly still. She walked over to where the reading books were kept, next to the large window, and looked out, wondering if her daddy was out there somewhere. She knew Mrs Moore was doing something bad. Grown-ups didn't cry for no reason.

But no one was out there. No one that she could see.

Molly began to hand out the books, trying to smile at each of her classmates. She could tell that Mrs Moore was smiling at her; a strange sort of smile, one that made Molly feel uncomfortable. "Mrs Moore," she said, looking at the teacher and trying to seem unafraid. "Shall I give Erin her book?" She just wanted to check her friend was okay. Then maybe see if they could sneak out of the window in the small room.

"Yes, Molly. But I shall only give you a few seconds before you come back in here. I don't want you wasting time," she said, then smiled broadly. Molly could see her teeth. "I know you're a good girl. You hurry now."

She shot out of the door that led to the small room used for a few kids who found reading or math hard, and found Erin with her head on the desk. The room did not smell good. "Erin, here's your reader. You need to get out of here." Molly looked up at the window that was slightly open. "Climb out once I've gone and find my dad."

"You think she's going to do something bad?" Erin said.

Molly nodded and backed out, making sure to smile at Mrs Moore as soon as she saw her. She seemed to be picking on the kids who were upset, that seemed scared.

Molly looked at Jamie Hull, who looked almost like he normally did. He looked back, and she felt a little less alone.

"You have ten minutes reading time, like usual. After that, you will get out your reading logs and write down five things that happened in what you have read, like usual. Do we all understand?" Mrs Moore said, looking round the room.

Molly opened her book and began to read. It was a story she'd read before, _What Katy Did_, and she knew what was going to happen next, so instead of reading she watched the window that was next to the room where Erin was and waited to see some sign of her climb out.

She heard a slight bang and felt the breath that she had been holding slip out. Mrs Moore hadn't noticed anything.

Molly was half way through the fourth thing that had happened when she started to hear cars pull onto the playground. Mrs Moore had noticed too; she began to pull down the blinds so the children couldn't see out. She hadn't gone to check on Erin yet, and Molly figured that she hadn't considered the possibility that Erin could escape.

"It's dark in here," Ms O'Hare said, her voice sounding slightly braver. "Will the children be able to do their work?"

"The good ones will be," Mrs Moore said. "The ones who can't, I'm not interested in anyhow."

The phone in the corner of the room began to ring. Molly knew that every classroom had one, in case of emergencies, such as someone was having a bad asthma attack, or a teacher needed to be contacted. The school was big; it could take ages to walk to the principal's office, and after there had been a flood in a classroom last year, every classroom had had a phone put there. Once, Jane Smythe's mom had been called because Jane was being naughty. The teacher had done it in front of everyone, and no one had been naughty for ages after that.

Mrs Moore picked up the phone, then put it down again very quickly.

It rang again.

This time she said something. "No."

It rang again.

"Mr Hotchner," she said. "Everyone is fine. I don't need to speak to you, nor do the children. Nor does Ms O'Hare."

Molly crushed her lips together hard. She guessed what was happening. She just hoped her daddy was out there, because she knew that he would save her.


	39. Chapter Thirty Eight

_Thank you to my amazing reviewers! _

_Please please let me know what you think. If people stay interested, I'll keep on at this series with a mini-case fic where Hotch and Emily head off on vacation, but I need to know you're interested! Reviews are really important, as the stats page only tells me how many hits I've had on each chapter, not that people have actually read it!_

_Check out the C2 Community 'Hiding from Strauss' – there are lots of good HP stories there, thank you to JirrG, abunnymom, sussiray and kimmeke for their work over there!_

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"Heroes take journeys, confront dragons, and discover the treasure of their true selves."

**- Carol Lynn Pearson**

**Chapter Thirty Eight**

**November 9****th**

It had begun to rain and he was already soaked. An uncomfortable dampness clung to his jacket, seeping through the material into his skin and bones. It would take a week to warm up, or it would if he'd noticed.

Hotch didn't particularly care about the weather at that moment in time, unless it was going to somehow effect what was happening inside the school. He looked behind at the sound of another vehicle arriving, and saw Rossi driving, Will with him. He knew he would prefer to have the rest of the team with him, but given the attention the scene was already getting, and the chaos that was ensuing behind the tape hastily put up by one of the officers, he doubted that would be a wise move.

Martha Moore had failed to answer since putting the phone down on him for the third time. He'd backed off from calling again, knowing that any pressure would intensify the situation in there. The rest of the school had been quickly and quietly evacuated; the pupils walked down the street into the nearby church hall, where their parents could collect them without interfering with what was happening at the school.

The parents of the children in the classroom with Martha Moore were a different matter, however, and he was missing JJ's calm but firm presence. It would take around twenty minutes for her to get to the school from the safe house, if Llewellyn drove, but he was reluctant to push her immediately into the public eye, and into the eye of their UnSub, who he was pretty sure would be in the crowd, blending in.

"What's the lowdown?" Rossi said, the collar of his jacket pulled up around his neck.

"She has twenty three pupils in there, plus the substitute teacher, Sally O'Hare. She is twenty four years old and has recently qualified," Hotch said, keeping his eyes on the windows of the room, all of which had the blinds closed.

"So Sally is unlikely to be much use to us. She'll be panicking, and will possibly agitate Martha further," Rossi said. Hotch knew the words were cruel, considering the position Sally was in, but they had to consider the worst case scenario.

"One girl has managed to get out of the room next to where Martha has them; Erin James. She wasn't feeling well. Martha shouted at her and moved her immediately out of the room, because she didn't want the other pupils to catch what Erin had. Erin's pretty upset; she's gone home with her mom," Hotch said, condensing what had happened so far.

Rossi nodded, his hands in his pockets. "She's going to peel off and discard the weaker children," he said. "She's come back here for a reason, Hotch, and it has to be her main reason to live at the moment. "

"She's come for a replacement for Alfie," Hotch said, as Emily returned to his side. "Does that mean Alfie is already dead?"

Rossi shrugged. "It might mean she knows he is unlikely to last. That he's sick and not very strong. But what we have here is a change in MO. She's with children older than what she's previously gone for, and she hasn't planned this for months previously. This is different."

Hotch saw Emily nod. "Her personality has become dissociative. She wants a child and already has a relationship with these kids, so although she can't mould them into them thinking that she's their mother, she's aware that a bond is already formed. I've been speaking to the parents," she said, looking at Hotch and Rossi. "The ones that are still behaving rationally have been really useful. Hotch, I know you have two cases to consider here, but I really think we could do with JJ, Morgan and Reid here. If we can calm the parents and speak with them about their children, we can work out which ones she's most likely to want to take with her."

Hotch gave an almost imperceptible nod, his hand holding his phone inside his jacket pocket. "You say ones, plural not singular. Why do you think she's going to attempt to take more than one?"

"Insurance," Rossi said. "If one doesn't make it, she has a spare. She may also see it as a readymade family: a brother and a sister, for example."

"We need to speak with the parents about their children. We know she will definitely try to protect at least of the pupils in her class; the question is, what will she do with the ones she doesn't want?" Emily said, looking at the building that was now shrouded in grey rain.

"And we have no way of getting a shot on target," Rossi said. "Unless someone gets the opportunity to pull the blinds. "

Hotch pulled out his phone, and gave it a stern look. "I'm going to bring in the rest of the team," he said. "We're looking at the possibility of an agent, or two, having to go inside, once she started to make demands."

Rossi nodded, shivering into his coat as a helicopter moved overhead. It was the media – the circus was beginning. "I hate to say it, Aaron, but we have another minimal loss situation. It's unlikely that everyone in there is going to walk out. We have to be realistic about that."

Hotch looked away, refusing to acknowledge the truth in Rossi's words. Emily looked pensive, her eyes on the entrance to the building.

Police officers were now beginning to swarm around them, taking instruction from the handbook _he_ had written; waiting for _his _instruction. Hotch inhaled deeply and looked at Rossi. As of that moment, none of his agents were inside the building; he had no emotional ties in there yet, and he did have the knowledge, and the intelligence and experience to get O'Hare and the children out of this situation. He had to believe that.

"Rossi," he said. "Can you organise the local officers until Morgan gets here, then assign that job to him? Prentiss, have three or four of the female officers start to ask the parents more questions about their children, and their children's friends who are in that class as well. Focus them on specific areas."

She nodded, then moved away quickly. He didn't want to send Emily in there, yet she was probably his only choice. Personal feelings crossed with professional ones, and instead of trying to separate them, he let them run alongside.

"Dave," Hotch said, interrupting him instructing one of the deputies. "When you have a moment."

He was there in less than half a minute. "What is it?"

"We have no way of getting a shot on target, and we have no idea of what she's doing in there. I have to send someone in to manipulate the situation. Who would be your choice?" Hotch said. He knew they had time to make controlled, calm decisions. There was no threat of a bomb or several people firing weapons as there had been in Colorado, and Martha Moore would want to take her time in choosing which children were the perfect ones for her. They could assume she had a gun, but Hotch knew he could also assume that she would be unlikely to move from her classroom until the end of the school day. She would want to do her job and teach the children. That gave them three hours.

"Not Reid; he's too young. She wouldn't see him as an equal. Not Morgan; his race makes him an unlikely person for her to bond with. She's worked and lived in a predominately white area all her life. It's down to yourself, me or Prentiss," Rossi said. "I wouldn't choose Prentiss. I think Martha will respond better to a man."

Hotch felt Rossi's words alleviate the pressure that had been building on his shoulders. "You or I?" he said.

"You," Rossi said. "You're calmer than me. And she knows you're the head of the unit. The question is, can you delegate control out here?"

Hotch nodded. "I have no problem with that. I'm going to speak with her again first, or try to at least. See if I can persuade her to let some of the children out."

Rossi nodded. "I'll get on with the cavalry," he said, walking towards a group of officers who were looking at him expectantly.

Hotch called Llewellyn, and asked him to round up the rest of the team. Then he instructed Will to take over from Prentiss, collate the information on the pupils who were inside. She passed on some medical information that could be used immediately, and for the first time since getting the call out to the school he felt in control. He spoke briefly with Agent Neild from the Hostage Rescue Team that had arrived moments ago, filled in by Rossi, developing a quick plan.

Then he rang the number again, the noise of the telephone in Mrs Moore's classroom coming at him in stereo, given the close proximity of some of the officers inside the school to the room. She answered, her voice sounding lighter than it had done before.

"Agent Hotchner, I suppose? What can I help you with?"

Hotch paused for half a second, just enough to take away her ease. "Mrs Moore, we have the parents of the children inside your classroom with us, and they're anxious to know if they are alright. Bree Clough and Joshua Pye both need to take medication which is kept in the office. We'd take it as a sign that the children are all okay if you'd let Bree and Joshua out to do this."

There was silence on the other end of the phone. He knew she would not want to keep Bree and Josh anyhow; both children suffered from epilepsy so she would consider them imperfect. "No, Agent Hotchner. Bree and Joshua have work to do. They can't come out to play until they've finished their lessons."

He'd expected such an answer. "May we send their medication into your room? You know how important it is that they take it."

"I am aware of that, Agent Hotchner. How do you propose to get it to me without disrupting my class?"

Her voice was cold, and her detachment from reality was almost palpable. She truly believed that this was a normal situation; that she was still the class teacher and that there weren't thirty or so armed officers and agents surrounding her.

Hotch knew he couldn't destroy her present state of mind. To expose her to reality now would be like pulling a trigger himself. "You have another adult in there with you," he said. "Why not let her come out and take the medication back. We can instruct her on how to administer it also." The children's emergency medication was also going to be passed on, if possible. it was unlikely that either would have a seizure; Bree hadn't had one since she was five according to her mother, but the situation was unlike any either had been in before.

"The children need to have their medicine, Mrs Moore," he said, breaking the silence. She was on the verge of refusing him, he could tell. "If you fail to let them have it, it will be a disciplinary offense."

"If Ms O'Hare does not return in five minutes I shall do something you will regret, Agent Hotchner." She hung up.

Hotch informed Rossi and Prentiss, passing on the information to the officer in charge, Detective Woo. They still had no way of seeing what was happening inside. Agent Neild stood next to him, her eyes on the outside door nearest Martha's classroom.

"It's unlikely she'll think we've wired her up," Agent Neild said. "From how you've profiled her?"

Hotch nodded. "Martha Moore is in an almost fugue state at present. In her mind, all she is doing is teaching her class as deciding which of her pupils to save. Putting the camera on O'Hare will give us eyes and ears in there that we desperately need."

"And your next step?"

He glanced at Neild. She had a strange way of asking questions. "To go in there myself. Out of all my team, I'm the one she will react to most."

"In a positive way?"

"We don't know," he said. "Predicting the behaviour of someone in the state she is at the moment is intelligent guesswork. There are several ways she could react."

"You will take your weapon?"

He nodded. "But I hope not to use it. Not in front of the children, and again, we don't know how she will react."

Sally O'Hare stepped out of the door, the pale light of the rainy afternoon catching her face. Hotch and Neild ran towards her, as did the one of the medics who had the medication.

"I don't have to go back in there, do I?" O'Hare said, her voice shaking. "You can go in and get the children out?"

Hotch shook his head. "We need to you go back in there with this camera attached to you, and a microphone. That way we can see what's happening and we'll be able to work out when best to enter. She's also expecting you back in there, with the medication that the children do need."

She looked at him, fear filling her eyes. "She has a gun."

Hotch waited for her continue as one of the HRT fixed the camera and microphone.

"She's trying to teach the kids like it's a normal day, but they know it's not and they're scared. They're so quiet in there; it's weird. I just want to get them out of there, or try and take her gun or something." She was sounding a little braver now.

Hotch frowned. "If you try either of those things the outcome may not be what you wish. If Martha thinks you are going to try to stop what she is doing, she will most likely react violently. You need to go back in, and act as normal as possible. If you can appear fine, the children will respond to that and won't be as scared. Don't worry about the camera, and don't try and speak to us, or act unnaturally. We'll enter at the right time. Do you understand?" He raised his eyebrows, physically unable to smile. He knew he looked severe.

O'Hare nodded. "Okay."

"Good. One of the medics will go through what to do with the medication. After that, we need you to go back inside." He heard the phone start to ring. No one else answered it. It was for him.

He walked over to it slowly, and answered it tentatively, aware that Martha Moore's mood could change in a second.

"Agent Hotchner?"

"Mrs Moore."

"You'd better send her back in quick, else little Kyle might not see his mamma tonight." Her voice was a whisper, probably so the children wouldn't hear, but then he heard a whimper, and his own heart began to pound.


	40. Chapter Thirty Nine

_A/N: A quick update as a special treat. Please review the previous chapter if you haven't already! Thank you to those who have reviewed!_

_Next update will probably be Friday._

_Enjoy._

_Sx_

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is braver five minutes longer."

**- Ralph Waldo Emerson**

**Chapter Thirty Nine**

**November 9****th**

She could feel her heart beating too rapidly in her chest. A heart attack wouldn't be on the agenda; she'd had a thorough check up after the situation in Colorado, but still, if she wasn't in this present situation she'd be worried.

The Hostage Rescue Team was there in full force now, as were JJ, Morgan and Reid. JJ was dealing with the media, Reid with her. Morgan was liaising with the local officers and detectives, his ability to plan strategically being used to position people in the best places should they need to make an entrance in a hurry.

Emily was in the trailer set up to receive the feed from O'Hare's camera, Rossi, Hotch and the HRT's chief all crammed in with her. They were watching Martha Moore's response as O'Hare returned, her lip curling in distaste.

"That was longer than necessary, Ms O'Hare," Martha said. O'Hare turned towards her, the camera now directed at Martha. She was crouched down by Lewis Peters, seemingly helping him with his work.

"I needed to take instruction on how to administer the medication. Shall I give it to them now, Mrs Moore?" O'Hare's voice trembled and Emily felt for her. She was too young and inexperienced to be in this situation, and Emily knew she was their weak link. She wanted to perceive herself as a hero, to be instrumental at getting the children out of there, which meant there was a good chance she would antagonise Martha in some way.

"We could bring in the husband to speak with her," Rossi said. "It may be a long shot, as I'm not sure of the depth of Martha's feelings toward him, but it's an option."

Hotch looked grim, and Emily for a brief moment allowed herself to think about the time when she and Reid had been inside the compound in Colorado, and he'd heard her being beaten. She bit her lips together, pushing back the rare water than had formed in her eyes. She wanted to touch him in some way, to put a hand on his back or arm, she wanted that comforting contact, but they couldn't have it yet. "It's something to consider," Hotch said. "We need to find out what the students do for lunch."

She saw where his thoughts were leading straight away. They potentially had a bargaining tool. Martha would know that they needed food, and she would want to maintain the strength of those pupils she considered to be of the standard she wanted. The children's packed lunches were not kept near the classroom, but near to the dining hall, and she would need resources from outside.

Hotch picked up the phone set up to make and receive calls into the classroom. "Mrs Moore," he said once she had answered.

Emily could see the children in the classroom who were sat near to Ms O'Hare looking fearful, the ringing of the telephone having broken the fragile silence.

"Agent Hotchner. What is it now?" Her tone was snappy, annoyed, as if she had been interrupted while doing something of great importance.

"It's almost lunch time," Hotch said, calm and quiet. "The children need food. Would you like us to send something in for them, and you and Ms O'Hare?"

"And risk being poisoned?" Hotch looked from her to Rossi. Paranoia was now setting into Mrs Moore's mind, making her likely to act rashly.

"Mrs Moore," he said, his voice more authoritative now. "The food will be fine. We have no desire to make the children ill."

"I'll have to think." She hung up, then they watched her walk across the classroom to her desk, where she sat down and began to read through something, probably her register with the children's details in it.

"She's looking to see what allergies they have," Emily said. "It's just occurred to her now that she won't want to take any children who have food intolerances."

"The clock's ticking," Rossi said. "Once it's home time, she knows she has to let the class go. The question is will she? Will she have made up her mind and have a plan to get them out of there?"

Agent Thorne had worked with them before on a couple of occasions, and Emily had always found him a listener rather than someone who had to be involved in making plans, but now he spoke. "She's likely to use some of the children as more obvious hostages then, while she tries to negotiate her freedom. Or she may let them go, and then deny that she has kept any of them behind. What about starting the negotiating sooner, persuading her to let one or two of the most vulnerable children go now, picking ones she won't be interested in."

"In exchange for food," Hotch said, agreeing. "She has the upper hand at the moment, mainly because we're not confident in her reactions if we push her. But if we don't upset the equilibrium we could have a bad ending if she starts to panic. Let's wait for her to call back."

"You're thinking of telling her that she is in the wrong here?" Rossi said.

Hotch nodded. "I think she needs to be brought back into reality," Hotch said. "Although I don't think it's a good idea to mention Alfie."

They watched Martha pick up the phone, and heard her rebuking a child for not holding her pen properly. She paused, leaving the phone momentarily to show her how it should be held.

Emily picked at a fingernail, a habit she thought she had under control. "She sounds just like a normal teacher," she said, watching the shaky shot.

"That's why it's difficult to remember that she's lost her grip on reality," Rossi said. "She's holding those children and that woman hostage, whether she understands that or not."

Martha went back to the desk and picked up the phone. This time she dialled; the ringing coming through into the vehicle. Hotch answered, waiting longer than Martha would expect before he spoke. "How are the children, Martha?"

O'Hare was too far away from Martha for the camera to have her facial expression in focus, but Emily guessed that Martha had been wrong footed by Hotch's opener. "They're all doing their work, Agent Hotchner."

"Are they hungry?"

She was quiet, still thinking. Emily felt the unsettled feeling she'd had earlier begin again. "Yes, Agent Hotchner. They are. What do you propose to do? Of course, it would be much easier if we could take them to the dining area and give them a hot meal. For some of these children it's the only hot meal they have each day."

"I think you know, Mrs Moore, that's not possible," Hotch said. "We'll arrange for something to be brought in for them and you, but in return we ask that some of these children come out into the playground and are taken home by their parents."

"I don't think that's an option, do you Agent Hotchner?" She sounded as if she had clarity, as if she was now aware of the predicament she was in.

"What options do you think you have, Martha?" Hotch said, his voice still calm, non-threatening.

"After school has finished two of these children will come with me. The rest will go home," she said, confidence bubbling in her words. "And it's Mrs Moore; not Martha."

Hotch glanced at Emily and Rossi. "We can't let you take someone else's child. That's not fair. You know stealing's wrong."

"I'm not stealing," she sounded more aggravated now. "This isn't stealing. These children will be looked after much better by me than their parents."

Emily knew that they could now bring up Alfie, and the three other children they suspected her of abducting and ultimately killing, but it was obvious from her voice and what they could see on camera that she was becoming more unstable. The sound of a child beginning to cry was also becoming audible.

"Mrs Moore, we're going to get the children some hot soup and sandwiches. There won't be any ingredients included that anyone is allergic to. But we ask that you let," he quickly looked at the list of names of the children and their details that was pinned to the wall, "Ana Earnshaw and Amelie Hackett leave when we bring the food."

"Why should I?" she said, defiance in her voice.

"Because if you don't feed those kids then they will become more upset. We're only asking for two of them, Mrs Moore. Do we have an agreement?"

"You bring the food in first. That's you, Agent Hotchner – actually no, send in that woman that works for you, Agent Pren-something."

Emily felt slightly sick. She didn't want to go in there particularly, and this was a situation where she didn't feel totally within her depth. She hadn't had to talk anyone down in this sort of situation, whereas Hotch, Rossi, even Morgan and Reid, had done so before.

"I'm afraid that's out of the question, Mrs Moore. We will trust you to send the children out once we have left the food outside your classroom door," he said, giving no explanation and turning around the topic smoothly.

"And if I don't?"

"Then we know we can't trust you." Hotch ended the call, looking up at the roof of the large trailer they were in.

For a moment they were silent, the tension eventually broken as Morgan entered. He looked tired, and Emily wondered why it felt so long ago since he'd come out of hospital. "We're due a team change," he said. "The officers out there need a break. Can we delay the food until that's happened?"

Hotch nodded. "The food will be another thirty minutes at least. JJ is arranging it with a diner two blocks away. Do the change over as soon as you can."

"Are you going in there, Hotch?" Morgan said.

Hotch nodded. "Negotiating over the phone won't result in this being over soon enough. I'll give them time to eat, and then see if she'll allow more children to leave if I go in."

"Reid said there was a large crowd forming where the barrier was. He's concerned that our UnSub may try to strike to take the attention back to himself," Morgan said, his expression growing darker.

Rossi shook his head. "That won't happen. But he will be using this time to plan something bigger that will steal the headlines when this is all over. Tell Reid and JJ to keep taking photos."

Morgan nodded, then slipped back out. Enough words had been said.

Emily heard her stomach rumble loud enough so that the others in the trailer heard it also. She gave a half laugh. "I guess we could do with lunch too," she said.

Agent Thorne agreed, taking his eyes off the screen for the first time since the feed from O'Hare's camera had started. "I'll go ask one of the officers to go get a bag full of sandwiches. Then I'm going to take a walk around the school; check its weak points and where we could do with more men stationed."

"I'll come with you," Rossi said. "Things are unlikely to change here for the next few minutes and I could do with stretching my legs." He glanced at Emily and she eyed him back. He was purposely leaving her alone with Hotch.

The atmosphere was anything but tense, as she had expected it might have been, and instead Hotch looked slightly less tense now Thorne and Rossi had gone. Emily kept glancing at the screen, although she knew the feed was going through to two other places as well, in other trailers that had been set up. "You feel okay about going in there?" she said, shuffling a step towards him.

He looked at the floor then at her. "I don't think there's any other choice. If I'm in there I can take more control. I may take Reid in with me at some point also, depending on how things go."

"She could shoot at you," Emily said. "Are you going to suit up?" She referred to the Kevlar vests they would normally wear.

He nodded. "I know it may startle the kids in there." He moved towards her, closing the distance, and she felt something in her chest ache. "You don't want me to go in, do you?" The question was almost unspoken, such was its volume.

She shook her head. "No. But I wouldn't ask you not to. It's our job." His hand raised up and she grabbed it for a second, needing that contact. "Will you sleep with me tonight?"

He nodded, words poised on his lips, but then Rossi entered, and the atmosphere reverted to what it had been before they were alone; their personal feelings pushed aside for now.

* * *

Sophie knew she'd pulled _something_ in her back. Quite what, she wasn't sure, only recalling anything to do with anatomy just before a test. But she'd found light; natural light, from a window that had been almost bricked up. She sat back and wondered how easy it was going to be to knock enough of those bricks down so she could break a piece of the glass big enough so she could get out.

But right now, before she did anything else, she needed to rest, to take a break and work this out properly. If he came down to see her before she'd escaped then what would she do? What would she do once she was outside? The house was old, and the land around it had probably been built up. The basement window would be small – she may have to climb.

And then there was the issue with her back. It _hurt_. Badly. It twinged when she walked, so if she had to run at some point, it would probably hamper her speed. Sophie lifted a hand to her mouth and began to nibble on a nail, a habit she thought she'd stopped. Right now though, she wasn't that fussed about habits. Especially this one. It was hardly life threatening.


	41. Chapter Forty

_Thank you to my wonderful reviewers! You keep me writing – well, you and a slight addiction! Please feel free to review if you haven't done so already, even non-members can! Thank you to my anonymous reviewer too!_

_I am going to go back during the next couple of days and edit some of the earlier chapters so the November 11__th__ parts become November 10__th__ – you can see how well I planned this, can't you :)_

_I also need to start doing a little research for the mini HP case, but before that, where would you rather see Hotch and Emily go: Ireland or Trinidad/Tobago? Then I need someone to help me with the folklore of that place. As a bit of a spoiler, I'm looking at putting together a murder mystery, with the backdrop of something rather ghostly – the old things that go bump in the night – so something a little different! Let me know if you can help!_

_Thank you to __**Chiroho**__ for the beta on this!_

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"Perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us once beautiful and brave."

**- Rainier Maria Rilke**

**Chapter Forty**

**November 9****th**

Most of the children didn't eat much, from what they saw. Emily could tell they were getting restless, the way they played with their spoons and the crusts of their bread. O'Hare hadn't touched a thing, her plate still full. Emily imagined her looking paler than she had before, the dark circles under her eyes having grown. She felt sorry for her, being in there, unable to do anything to help the situation. O'Hare had also become almost silent in the past hour; merely uttering the odd word to the child she was sitting near. Emily figured that it was for the best, that she was unlikely to say anything to antagonise Martha. She just hoped it stayed that way.

Hotch retained his stoicism, saying little, letting Rossi do most of the talking. He looked pale though, and had eaten little of the feast Thorne had brought back with him. She prayed for the end of the situation to come quickly, and at least one weight would be lifted from their shoulders.

"I'm going to get ready to go in," Hotch said, almost abruptly. "I need to get wired up."

Rossi nodded. "I'll let everyone know." It had already been discussed, how they were going to play this. They'd continued to profile Martha, debated her likely reactions, and suggested various ways to get the children outside. Both the girls Hotch had requested had been released without any further word from Martha. They'd been gently questioned by Emily and Morgan, then taken away by their parents.

The rest were still waiting, some more patiently than other. JJ had somehow managed to drag a food van out to them, which was now serving free coffee to the parents, and charging members of media an increased price. It had been one of the few things to amuse Emily.

Hotch began to put on the Kevlar vest, his forehead creased in concentration. Emily knew he wasn't worried for his own safety, that wasn't his concern, but he was concerned about the children and O'Hare, and of Martha herself. They wanted her to come out of the building alive. They needed her knowledge of Alfie's whereabouts. They needed this to be over, and then they could focus on their second case, and getting out of that safe house.

Everyone fell silent once Hotch was ready; their faces stilled with fearful anticipation. They knew the risks; when they took this job they were aware of the losses that could happen. Not just of their colleagues, but also of the lives they may fail to save. Emily wasn't sure what worried her the most right now. She knew Hotch was an expert in this field; one of the best, maybe the best, but she knew how he would feel if even one of those children failed to get out of there safely. He'd never say, never voice those feelings, but she would know, because they would all feel the same.

He picked up the phone and dialled the number. They watched Martha's reaction as she heard it begin to ring; she jumped, almost as if she had never expected it to ring again.

"Mrs Moore," Hotch said as soon as she answered. "I'd like to come in and see the children."

"That's not possible, Agent Hotchner. You will interrupt their learning." She was short, almost sharp.

"I don't think they're getting much learning done, Mrs Moore. Look around you, what do you really see? Rows of terrified faces. Children who are too scared to even ask to go the bathroom. Children who want their parents. They can't learn anything in that state. I'm going to come and see them," he said, not allowing her to speak, to argue back until he had finished.

"Why should I let you?" She sounded and looked defiant.

"Because I'm a much better bargaining chip than a room full of children, Mrs Moore. I have the authority to get you out of there. Those children don't," he said.

"You can't bring a gun," she said after a long pause. "It will scare the children."

"Is that why you have one?"

Quiet again.

"Do you have a gun so you can scare the children, Mrs Moore?" Hotch said.

"I don't have a gun, Agent Hotchner. Why are you coming in? You're the one in charge. Can't you send in one of your subordinates?"

Hotch waited for a second. "Because you're too important, Martha. I won't let more junior agent interview you. You've done too much." His eyes glanced at Rossi who was nodding. They'd decided to take this tack with Martha, to be flattering and to not undermine her. In many ways she had a narcissistic personality disorder, pre occupied with personal adequacy, power and prestige. To insult her would be to contradict what she believed about herself, and that could result in her taking out her frustration and anger on those around her.

She waited before responding, and they knew she was weighing her options.

"If I come in there, Mrs Moore, I will ask you to release some of the children."

"How many?"

"I'll leave that up to you. Do we have a deal?"

They saw her nod on screen, her eyes in the direction of O'Hare. "I agree to your terms. But Ms. O'Hare will stay here."

Again, they had expected as much.

"Three minutes," Hotch said, then cut the line.

Emily watched as he checked the wire and camera. A second pair of eyes would give them another perspective on what was happening in the room. The last resort was several agents, led by Morgan and Thorne, entering the room and taking Martha Moore out. This would only happen if it looked as though she was about to take the children down with her.

"I'll attempt to raise one of the blinds," Hotch said. "Then let me know via the phone if you can get a clean shot. If all goes according to plan, Reid should come in with me after about twenty minutes, and we'll aim to talk her down further and get the children out. This can end successfully."

She felt her heart catapult into her mouth, adrenaline firing round her body like lightning. "We're all set, Hotch," she said. They knew the plan, but there was still the need for reassurance, even for him.

He nodded, and opened the door of the trailer to leave, glancing round briefly and looking at her. She kept her expression neutral, knowing that she had to deal with this if they had any chance of this working, and understanding why he had said what he did a couple of nights ago.

Hotch walked toward the building almost slowly, the tension building with each step. There was the possibility that Martha Moore would fire at him as soon as he entered. They doubted it, but it couldn't be discarded.

She saw his hand on the handle as he let himself inside the building, and then a few steps, and he knocked on the classroom door. That was the only sound, the knocking. There was no other noise audible, no sound of children talking, or Martha Moore teaching, just the echo of fist knocking against wood.

"Come in!" A sole voice broke the silence, and then Emily saw on screen the room from a different angle; the rows of children sitting behind their desks, some with faces puffy from crying.

"We made a deal," Hotch said, no emotion in his voice.

"And what if I don't stick to the deal?" She sounded arrogant almost, too used to being in control.

"Then I send a team of men in hear who will take off your head with their first shot."

Emily heard muted sobs as the children heard his words. He'd said it for this effect, to show Martha Moore that he wasn't afraid of upsetting them. They were her shield; she'd chosen to hide behind them, and Hotch had to show her they didn't care.

"Emmy, Taylor Markey, Tailor Wilde, Shona and Paris leave the building and go outside to your parents, who I assume are waiting for you," Martha said, her words calm and authoritative. "How's that, Agent Hotchner?"

He nodded. "Why did you marry your father's friend?" he said.

She looked completely blown away. Emily waited for an outburst, for words to come toppling out of her mouth like money from a slot machine. But instead she remained silent.

"Were you pregnant? Did they both abuse you?" Hotch said. Emily could see that he had stepped away from most of the children and moved closer to Martha Moore. "Did your husband lose his temper and you lost the baby, over and over again until you couldn't get pregnant anymore?"

"I was never married," she said, quietly. "I didn't marry my father's friend."

"It must have been hard, living with what they did," Hotch said. "None of these children would ever understand that. They'll never be as strong as you. They're useless to you. Why become a teacher in the first place? Why bother to forge those documents?"

Garcia had discovered it; the lack of qualifications, the falsified papers. All done many years ago.

Martha said nothing.

"Agent Hotchner," Ms. O'Hare stood up. Emily's eyes went to screen which her camera was streaming to. "Harriet really needs to bathroom. May I take her."

"You should be asking me," Martha said, sounding like a petulant child. "This isn't Agent Hotchner's class. It's mine!"

"But I'm the man," Hotch said. "I'm the one in charge, so you don't get a choice. That's what your father told you, isn't it? Yes, Ms. O'Hare, take Harriet to the bathroom. And why don't you see who else needs to go too."

"Not Molly," Martha said, sounding choked. "Or Stephen, or Jamie. Hannah and Elizabeth need to finish their work too. And Peter."

Ms. O'Hare nodded, and Emily saw how her face had changed. She looked brighter, relieved.

"Actually, the children can go alone," Martha said. "Let Sally stay here."

Emily noticed that Hotch was moving closer to Martha, and then she saw why. Her gun was now in her hand.

The feed from O'Hare's camera had frozen.

"Why?" Hotch said. There was no sign of tension in his voice.

"Because it's the children you're most concerned about. Not an adult."

Emily let her eyes leave the screen and looked at Rossi. "She has two motives for taking the children. The first is like we said: to get back the children she lost. The second is to take revenge: she's right; we act very quickly when there are signs of young children being abused, but not older ones, like she would have been."

Rossi nodded. "So she's only interested in protecting them to a certain extent. Then why does she need to keep O'Hare there? Another adult in the room is a hindrance to what she can do."

"Not while that gun is in her hand," Emily said, her eyes back on the screen. She could hear some of the remaining children crying.

"Why don't you put that gun down, Mrs. Moore," Hotch said gently. He was stepping closer, making Emily's heart speed up, although she knew her face showed no sign of her concern. "You're not going to need it."

"Then how else will I get out of here with what I need? Are you just going to let me go?" The gun was still in her hand, shifting between O'Hare, Hotch, and two of the closest children.

"Holding the gun right now is not going to help anybody," Hotch said. "You've let more of the children go to their parents, you have some of our good will now. If you want Ms O'Hare to stay, she will do. Why don't you sit down at the back, Sally?" O'Hare's camera told them she had taken his suggestion.

"So you will let me go? With two of them?" Martha said. "I need this." She pleaded, her voice softening as well as her expression.

Reid was standing beside Emily in the trailer, a Kevlar vest already on. He was watching the screen with deep concentration, squinting at it.

"Did you forget to put your contact lenses in today?" Emily said, surprised she could think of such a thing while the scene was being played inside the school.

"No, but I think my prescription's changed," he said. "My left eye's a little blurred. I think Hotch has this now."

Martha's body language had changed; she no longer looked guarded, or under attack.

"Which children do you want to keep here, Martha?" Hotch said. He was now sitting on her desk, something she wouldn't have allowed him to do when he had first gone into the classroom.

"Molly and Jacob," she said, looking up at him, her eyes caught clearly on camera. "You will let me go with those?"

Hotch nodded. "We need to let the rest of the children go. And then we need to tell Molly and Jacob's parents that they won't be coming back."

Emily saw Martha Moore smile, a delighted grin covering her face. "I knew people would start to understand. I'm not a bad woman, I've never killed anyone. Not like _they _did; not like how _they_ killed my babies. But no one did anything to help me; nothing. Because I was old enough to take care of myself – but when are you old enough to protect yourself against your parents? When?"

She had lowered the gun.

Hotch's hand fell across the place where his camera was for half a second. This was the way of saying Reid was to make his way over, with his weapon concealed.

Emily glanced at Reid, who had less of a nervous air about him that usual, but it was still there. "You'll be fine, Spencer," she said. He gave a slight nod and left the trailer without saying anything.

"You think he'll be okay?" she said to Rossi. "He's still not over what happened in Colorado."

"But he knows he needs to do this. Besides, Hotch has pretty much got this under control. My only worry is that she can still turn. I'd say he has a fifteen minute window until she realises that she's not going anywhere."

Their eyes went back to the screen.

"We can let the other children go?" Hotch said. He seemed relaxed, but Emily could see how his hand was inching closer to his ankle, the whereabouts of the second gun he kept concealed.

Martha nodded. "They haven't had a lunch break, so I suppose finishing school a little early won't do them any harm. You can see where they're up to in their learning, Sally, can't you? So you'll know where to start from tomorrow?"

"Yes, ma'am," O'Hare said. Emily felt relieved she hadn't said anything more.

"Okay, children. Apart from Molly and Jacob, you may go. Don't forget your homework folders. Ms. O'Hare will want that in by the end of the week."

Emily looked outside the trailer and saw the children spilling out onto the yard, officers meeting them immediately and guiding them toward the barrier where their parents were waiting, along with paramedics.

As happy a sight as it was, Emily knew that the most dangerous time was approaching for the people that remained in the classroom. As soon as Martha realised that she wasn't going anywhere, she would take the future into her own hands.

"Thank you, Martha," Hotch said. "You've done the right thing."

A knock sounded at the classroom door. Hotch turned so the camera could pick up Reid entering the room.

"Agent Hotchner," Reid said. "I..."

"I didn't say you could enter!" Martha Moore interrupted. Reid's entrance had been successful; they had predicted that she would respond like this.

Reid moved in front of O'Hare, blocking any shot that could be aimed at her. "I'm sorry, Mrs Moore. I know you're in the middle of a conversation. Is there anything I can help with?"

The picture they were getting from Hotch's camera was losing focus, becoming blurred. O'Hare's camera could only see Reid's back. Emily looked to Thorne, who was still concentrating on the screen. "What's happening?" she said.

"The wiring may have loosened. There's nothing we can do unless we get Hotch out of there to adjust it," Thorne said. They both knew that wasn't an option.

"You're just a child. How could you help me?" Emily knew that Martha Moore's focus would now be solely on Reid. The Reid effect; the way he baffled everyone that first time he met them.

"I have three doctorates and an IQ of 187, so I might be more help that you think," he said. Emily knew by now that Hotch would have his Glock 26 in his hand, his Glock 17 left behind with her.

Hotch's camera was now completely defunct, so they were without any line of vision.

"It's rather dark in here," Reid said. "Do you think we could open a blind?"

They saw him move away from O'Hare towards the window that looked out over the field. Martha turned to watch him, and Emily wondered whether she realised why Reid was doing this. She then saw Reid speak briefly to Molly who was sitting near the window. She stood up, moving with Reid so she was closer to the door.

"What did you say to her?" Martha said, the gun now pointing at Reid. "What did you tell her?"

"That it was draughty there and she needed to move, otherwise she'd get cold," Reid said, his calm voice suggesting that he wasn't bother by the gun.

O'Hare then moved, so Emily could now see Hotch. He was almost behind Martha, and Emily knew he had decided to end this using force, bringing it finally to a close.

"Martha," Emily heard Reid say. "We have to take you with us. To the police station."

"But Agent Hotchner said..."

"He lied. Like your father and his friend lied, telling you it wouldn't happen again, when it did, over and over. We know what happened to you, but that's no reason for us to let you take any more children," Reid said. Martha began to sob, her resolve breaking.

Then Emily saw Hotch's arms encircle her, removing the gun from her hands and throwing it down on the floor out of her grasp. "Sally, take the children out of here," Hotch said, and the camera moved swiftly to where the children were both quietly sitting, then out of the room to the yard, and the rain that had started to pound down once again.

"They've done it," Rossi said. "All the kids are out."

They heard the click of handcuffs, then violent sobbing. Feet shuffling across the floor and a wail of pain that sounded like a banshee from the stories Emily had heard as a girl when she had been in Ireland. Then the door opened and Martha Moore was led outside, Hotch and Reid behind her, with Hotch grasping her tightly.

Emily fought the urge to run to him, but it was not just professionalism that stopped her. Her legs had begun to shake with relief and she knew she wouldn't be able to move. She noticed that Rossi was watching her, a half smirk on his face.

"Now you can understand how he feels," he said.

"Are you telling me off?" she said, annoyance helping her legs regain steadiness.

He shrugged. "If you had been the right person to go in there, Hotch would have still sent you in. But his fear would have been worse than yours because he gave the order and you are his responsibility. And it's his instinct to protect you. That's what you do when you care about someone. I know he's upset you, Emily, but it wasn't for lack of thought." Rossi paused. "I'm going to go get in on the action. See if I can find out where Martha Moore is hiding that boy."

He left her with her thoughts, now standing out in the rain, watching Hotch pass Martha Moore over to the officers waiting to take her into custody.

* * *

Dan had had a perfect afternoon so far. He hadn't seen her for what seemed like so long, and yet here he was, the very person they were looking for, having the luxury of watching her work for almost three hours.

She was good at her job; instilling calm and confidence into the waiting parents; feeding the media just enough information to keep them happy, but not enough so that the investigation could be spoiled. They would be a perfect team, when he was installed in the BAU alongside her.

Everything was almost in place. He couldn't plan it absolutely, as he couldn't predict who would stay back to speak to Martha Moore and search for Alfie, and who would go back to the safe house. If Rossi returned there, he'd have the coordinates of the place. If Hotch and that bitch Emily did, then he'd have to hope that JJ stayed with Rossi.

He'd just have to watch and wait. But then he was good at that. And that butterfly was a worthwhile prize indeed.

* * *

Hotch had handed over Martha as soon as he possibly could, giving Rossi his thoughts and instructing him to take Reid with him to interview her. There was no point him doing it; she'd lost all trust in him, but Reid had been nothing but honest with her, and Hotch knew that the academic qualifications would intrigue her. He imagined Reid would have been her perfect child, and that was what he was hoping would work during the interview.

His skin still felt damp, with the rain as well as with the sweat from wearing a Kevlar vest inside a warm classroom. He would have preferred the luxury of a shower before seeing Emily, but knew that she wouldn't care. He thought he might understand the way she had been feeling during the hostage situation when he had been inside there, but then again, she might not feel the way he did, especially after the last couple of days.

He pushed the door open to the trailer, when he'd figured she'd still be. She was sitting on one of the half broken chairs, his gun in her lap, looking pale and tired. He rarely saw this side to Emily Prentiss. She was always full of fire; determined; feisty; in control. But everyone had their breaking point and the past few weeks were enough to be anyone's, as had been shown with Morgan in Utah.

"Hey," he said, waiting at the doorway. "You okay?"

"Shouldn't it be me asking you that?" she said, handing him his gun. He took it, checked the safety automatically, and placed it in his holster on his waist. Then he pulled her into him, hugging her into his chest, and exhaled the breath he had been holding since he'd told her he was changing bedrooms.

Her arms wrapped around his waist, her hands on his back, under his suit jacket, and he was aware of how damp he would feel, but then he realised she didn't care.

"I figure we've got about three minutes before someone comes looking for one of us," he said, inhaling the scent of her hair that smelled of nothing but her.

She looked up at him. "Then we're back on the trail of our stalker," she said. "Reid and JJ have taken an enormous number of pictures. Llewellyn's already had them downloaded and sent to Garcia and Kevin to go through recognition software. It's likely he's been here watching us."

"Which means he'll have had the opportunity to tamper with any vehicle he likes," Hotch said, pulling away from her slowly. "I'm going to talk with the officers in charge and have each vehicle checked. Then we'll have a car from elsewhere brought over and go back to the safe house. JJ will need to stay here with Rossi and Reid to help control the media. We'll take Will back with us."

Emily nodded. "I'll go and tell JJ."

Hotch looked at her, feeling as if something had blocked his throat for a moment. He let a hand go to her waist and pulled his mouth down to hers, kissing her softly and briefly.

She smiled as they broke away, then followed him outside into the cold rain to carry on with their jobs.


	42. Chapter Forty One

_Thanks must go to SussiRay here for the read through. This chapter could almost make this story M. It's not explicit smut, but it's far more detailed that what I've done before, so I really really need your opinions here. Is it okay, does it sound like a bad silhouette/Mills and Boon scene, do I fall into cliché etc? If you want to read really really good smut with a fantastic plot, please check out Sussi's story, The Train Ride - I'm gripped!_

_Thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter. I'm going to send a little extra HP piece to regular reviewers as a review reply to this chapter._

_Next update possibly tomorrow, depending on how well received this is – ie, how many reviews come in so I know you're still interested!_

_If you want to read some really good HP oneshots that are excellently written, please check out TangledUpLies. We have links to her stories on my C2: Hiding from Strauss, which you can find through my profile page. They are really well written and certainly engross the reader!_

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"Somewhere we know that without silence words lose their meaning, that without listening speaking no longer heals, that without distance closeness cannot cure."

**- Henri Nouwen**

**Chapter Forty-One**

**November 9th/10th**

They were back at the safe house just after sunset; the dark shadow of the building almost welcoming after a journey hampered by bad weather. No lights could be seen, but Emily knew that Garcia and Kevin were somewhere in there, as well as Will, who had arrived half an hour or so previously, relieving Garcia of her babysitting duties.

The rain was still heavy and cold, and she ached for a hot bath and a warm bed. But more than that, she ached for Hotch to be with her, a want that seemed likely to be granted. They'd said little on the way back, the fact that a remotely controlled explosive device had been discovered on their vehicle had rocked them slightly, taking away some of the joy of having finally caught up with Martha Moore. Llewellyn was now basing himself at the same place where Martha Moore was being questioned by Reid and Rossi, looking through surveillance tapes of the area, matching them up with the images they had of Daniel Clark.

Llewellyn had been busy; dealing not only with Boyd's actions, but arranging searches of properties held in Clark's name. They had their UnSub identified; it was now just a case of locating him, before he found them.

Emily's phone began to ring as Hotch put the car into park. She answered it quickly, seeing the caller was JJ, although she struggled to grip the phone securely, so cold were her hands.

"Emily, we've just found out that Rossi's cell phone had a GPS tracker put in place. He lost it while he was interviewing John Moore earlier, and a guy who seemed to be fixing the drinks machine at the station handed it to him. We've now identified that guy as Daniel Clark, so we definitely have a positive ID," JJ said, sounding anxious. "Neither you nor Hotch remember any of your belongings being out of your sight today?"

"No," Emily said. "Apart from the car, and that's been properly checked. He must have been planning to hit the safe house. I'll get inside and let Garcia know. Everything seems fine here from the outside, and Will's already made it back." Emily figured JJ was probably concerned about Henry, desperate to be with him.

"Will already called me. Everything's as it was left this morning, except for the mountain of Kevin's coffee cups. I suspect he will need decaffeinating when he gets back to Quantico," JJ said. "Rossi's cell is now out of use. Thankfully, the only person he called after was Hotch, and Llewellyn doubts that would have told Clark anything apart from information about John Moore."

"Any sign of Martha disclosing Alfie's whereabouts?" Emily said as Hotch glanced at her.

"None. Rossi came out of the interview room before. She's fascinated with Reid to the extent where she's making him feel uncomfortable, and refuses to speak about Alfie or any of the other three children. But Rossi seems to think that Reid's developing a good enough relationship with her for to begin talking within the next few hours," JJ said. "I think I'll be spending the night here at the station."

"That sucks," Emily said. "But hopefully Llewellyn and the rest of his team will have Clark locked up by the morning, so you might get to spend tomorrow night in your own bed."

There was a slight moan of anticipation. "Please," she said. "The thought of going home soon is the only thing that's getting me through. I keep thinking of poor Alfie, probably stuck somewhere cold and horrible on a night like this. On his own. It's awful, Em."

"I know. But remember there's a big search team out looking for him." Emily tried to reassure her. Before she and Hotch had left, several more officers had come back on shift, or turned up even when they were meant to be on a rest day, to help look for him. Several members of the public had joined in the search as well, and despite the weather conditions, they were carrying on throughout the night.

"Someone's bringing coffee," JJ said. "I'll speak to you later. Kiss Henry for me."

"Will do," Emily said, putting the phone away. She got out of the car at the same time as Hotch and walked the short distance to the front door, the rain soaking her completely even in just a few seconds, sticking her hair to her face and her shirt firmly to her skin.

"I'm going to go straight up and have a bath," she said to Hotch over the pounding of the rain. Then the seriousness of the day got to her and the devil in her made her smile. "You want to join me?" She felt as if she was going out on a limb, making the offer. They'd certainly been no discomfort between them during the journey back to the safe house, but she wasn't sure if he was ready to jump back into what they had, or whether he wanted to talk first. She didn't want to talk; she just needed him to be there. "I meant..."

The door opened to a peaceful silence and Hotch spoke deliberately quietly. "Leave your room unlocked and I'll grab a quick shower first and phone Jack. Then I'll bring us a drink."

She nodded, smiling as she met his eyes, seeing a smile inside them.

* * *

Hotch splashed on aftershave, feeling more human than he had done in days. Sophie was still missing, but Llewellyn had called half an hour ago to say that they had her on camera at the airport with someone who resembled Daniel Clark. It confirmed his worse fears, but at the same time it was reassuring; it would only be a matter of time before they had found Clark, and therefore Sophie.

He'd also spent a good twenty minutes talking to his son, who had seemed very jolly and well. He was in Canada still with Haley, staying at a farm house with a multitude of animals. Haley had asked him if Hotch wouldn't mind if they continued their stay there for a further two weeks, as there were various things going on with her family that she didn't want to miss out on.

No wasn't a possible answer. Although things were looking promising, they had no definite idea of how long they would have to remain in the safe house. Even if Clark was caught over night, their own houses and vehicles would have to be checked before they were allowed back into them. Even the bullpen back at Quantico would be combed for anything that could cause danger. That potentially put an extra two or three days on to their stay at the safe house, although they wouldn't have the same restrictions.

He closed the door to the room he had been sleeping in, and made his way downstairs to raid the stash of red wine Rossi had somehow managed to source. He'd given up questioning Dave, just raising his eyebrows instead and chuckling inwardly at the explanations.

Garcia was in the kitchen, compiling some atrocious looking sandwich that had pastrami and a hot dog on it. He looked at it worryingly, knowing that they could do without one of their technical analysts having food poisoning, or an upset stomach at least.

She smiled at his look. "It's for Kevin, and I admit, it's weird, but this is how he keeps his super powers, or so he says. How's the boss man?"

"A quarter of the way to being better. Any more footage of Sophie?" he said, pulling out a bottle of Chilean Merlot from '96 that looked to be reasonable.

"We think we have something from a traffic camera heading south from the airport. Clark has no known properties in that area, so we're starting to search deeper, looking at the rest of his family, and looking at potential pseudonyms also. It's going to be a long night, hence Kevin needs his sustenance. As do you and Emily," she said, eyeing his bottle and the two glasses he now held. "At least, I assume you aren't sharing that with Will."

"I should be working," he said, surprised at the words. He didn't usually speak to Garcia, not like this.

"Why? Your remit was to profile the UnSub. That's done, sir. The team brought in to find him are on the case. You're of no use right now on the Martha Moore case, unless you want to go back out in the rain to look for Alfie, but then you'd be putting yourself at risk in doing so. I'd say you were allowed to go and look after your agent," she said, sounding surprisingly serious. "And if you don't, I will find a way to feed you to the wild monkeys."

He shot her another look and left with the wine and glasses, which he realised was her intention.

Hotch knocked first, tucking the bottle of wine under his arm. He figured Emily would be in the bath, in which case he'd check his messages and wait for her to finish, maybe phone JJ and see if there was any progress with Martha Moore, but she answered, wearing a fluffy white dressing gown, her hair damp and slightly wavy. She'd just got out of the shower.

"The bath's still filling up. I figured I needed a shower too," she said, standing out of the way so he could get passed. "You going to join me?" She looked at him as if she expected him to say no.

He wasn't going to. Yes, he was good at punishing himself, but it didn't extend this far, he wasn't quite masochistic enough to turn down a viewing of the woman he found addictively attractive in more ways than just physical. "If that's what you want," he said, taking the corkscrew he'd remembered to bring up from the kitchen and opening the wine with a pop.

"What about what you want, Aaron?" she said, her arms folded, some of that feistiness back in her voice.

He began to pour the wine. "Emily, think about what you're asking. Morgan would call it a 'no brainer'."

"But I'm not asking Morgan, I'm asking you," she said, taking the glass he offered her. "Is this Rossi's?"

Hotch nodded. "He won't miss one bottle. Do you need to check the bath water; make sure it isn't over flowing?" He could hear it pouring rather rapidly, and the last thing he wanted was a flood. He had better ideas for the night that to be clearing that up.

She raised her chin and scuttled into the bathroom. He heard the water stop and there was a breath of silence before she came back out. For a moment, he wondered whether she had changed her mind about him being there.

Then she appeared, her eyes flickering with a spark he recognised well. "I don't blame you for what you did," she said, her words sincere but worried. "I understand why you needed that distance, and I'm sorry if I acted like a bitch because of it."

"You had every right to act that way," he said. "But I didn't mean to hurt you. I wouldn't do that Emily, not intentionally. I hate seeing you hurt; it's not easy to deal with."

She nodded. "I understand. After this afternoon I understand totally." She moved closer to him, putting the glass of wine down on the bedside cabinet. Then she raised her arms and put them round his neck, bringing herself towards him.

He closed the rest of the distance, meeting her lips with his own; his hands at her waist, gliding up and down the sides of her body, and then he started to become lost, his mind blurring, waylaid by the scent of her, her heat and the way she deepened the kiss.

"The bath water will get cold," she said, stepping away, leaving his hands grasping air. He watched, feeling powerless against her, as she slipped off the dressing gown, letting it fall to the floor in a fantastical heap. She stood there naked; her skin pale and perfect, a slender hour glass figure and he would have moved closer to her to touch, but his feet seemed to be frozen, awed at the sight. He wasn't sure if he'd ever get tired of looking at her, dressed or like this. Like this in particular.

Then she laughed, and he realised how much he had stared. She covered her breasts with her hands that could only conceal so much, a touch of embarrassment flushing her cheeks that were pink to start with. "That was supposed to be sexy," she said, still laughing. "But now I feel like an idiot!"

"You don't look like one," he said, glad that the words didn't sound like they were a struggle to get out. "It was as you intended." He wanted to tell her she was beautiful, perfect, but he knew she would only laugh and tell him that he sounded like a bad romance novel.

She smiled playfully. "I'll feel better when you're wearing less. I'll see you in the bath." She disappeared into the bathroom, and he heard the splash of the water as she climbed into it, clearly meaning for him to follow her in and join her.

He stripped, not bothering to pile up the t-shirt and sweat pants he'd been wearing. He then felt a little self-conscious as he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He knew he was in better physical condition than most men his age, visiting the gym at least every other day, usually first thing in the morning, and he still played squash once a week or more when they weren't away on a case and he didn't have Jack. But he wondered why she found him attractive. He had consoled himself that it was more than looks, which he knew it was on his part too. But still, her disrobing had reminded him of his luck. He just hoped she felt the same way.

Hotch went into the bathroom slowly, putting the wine down where they could both reach their glasses. Emily was lounging back in the bath, bubbles up to her shoulders, her face looking the most relaxed he had seen in days, although anxiety was still there. "Hey," he said, stepping up and over into the water. He felt her eyes run over his body, and he saw what he hoped was desire in them. she could see how he felt, it being somewhat obvious until the bubbles a welcome cover.

"Hey," she repeated, splashing the water gently towards him. The bath was overly long and wide, with a spa feature that had probably never been used. She smiled, then grinned. "You pleased to see me?" She shifted her foot to the answer and he closed his eyes momentarily.

He couldn't help but laugh at the cliché. "Surely you can come out with something more original than that?" he said, the outside of her thigh now sitting against his as they sat opposite from each other. The water just covered her breasts, and he found his eyes lingering there for longer than he wanted. He forced his gaze to her eyes and found her grinning again. It put him at ease, knowing he was forgiven.

"It's so much easier for women," she said, sinking further back into the water, the steam rising above them. "We can usually avoid staring."

"That's because women's bodies are better to look at than men's," he said. Her breasts were floating towards the top of the water, the bubbles separating with the water's movement and exposing them. He had a yearning to touch them, kiss them, but wanted this evening to be more than that. And if he started to touch now, things could be over way too soon. So instead, he let his hands grasp her legs, feeling them smooth under his touch. He began to run his thumbs up and down her skin, the softness of the water lessening any friction.

"Isn't that down to the beholder?" she said. He saw that she was now looking at her breasts, sitting up a little out of the water, and he wondered what she thought of them.

"What do you see?" he said, curious as well as just plain turned on.

"Things that get in the way. Things that grab a man's attention. A way to get attention. Something used to feed babies and a point of pleasure. I quite like them, but I prefer looking at you," she said, looking at him with an openness that made him feel raw. "What do you see?" She showed no sign of embarrassment now, letting him have full view of her. He'd seen her naked before, but not this exposed, not so he could look as much as he wanted. He felt as if she was handing herself to him, and it was pushing his excitement to Everest's peak.

"Something that drives me insane," he said, watching her hands now move over the topic of their conversation. He felt jealous of them, now at the edge of his resolve. "Curves. A typical man thing – I'll avoid the psychobabble. Why would you prefer looking at me?"

She knelt up in the water and moved towards him, straddling over his legs. One hand went to her waist, then a little higher, his thumb stroking the sides of her breasts then edging over to the nipple, which he brushed softly, watching it harden. His other hand rested on the top of her thigh, his thumb grazing the soft skin on the inside, edging closer to where he knew she wanted him to touch. He could sense her yearning; it burned quietly, rather than in the raging way it had done before. The atmosphere around them was thick with the heat they had caused, rather than the water. He shifted himself up a little, moving his mouth closer to her breasts and slowly touched his lips to her skin. Her heard her catch her breath, and then let his hand travel further up her thigh, pressing a finger into her warmth.

Her hands were on the tops of his arms, fingers walking over the muscle there. Then she moved them to his chest, her expression serious as she covered each inch there. "Because – I do," she said, quietly starting to answer the question he'd almost forgotten about. "I like your strength, your smell, the way your body reacts near mine. It's chemical, isn't it? But it's not always something you can understand from a chemistry book, or a psychology paper." He'd never heard the words 'chemistry' and 'psychology' before from someone who was naked. He smiled at her, loving her uniqueness and that it was his, just his.

He moved his hands up to cup her face, droplets of water splashing softly onto her chest, her skin, and he looked at her carefully. Her expression was almost sad, her eyes holding a tender look. Words went unspoken, for there was no need right now to complicate things further. He pulled her face down gently to his, then began to let his hands wander purposefully, cupping her breasts as the kiss became more demanding, an ache that was internal as well as physical needing release.

She pulled back, her lips swollen and cheeks flushed with more than just the heat from the water. Then she spoke quietly, hesitantly, as if she was unsure of her words. "I've never needed someone like this. I don't mean just lust, or wanting someone to have sex with, but the – I can't explain it – it feels like an addiction. It makes me ache; _you_ make me ache. It's a good thing. Most of the time."

"When is it bad?" he said, needing to know yesterday.

"When you're not there when I wake up, or when I go to sleep. I know you can't always be there; that there's Jack, and the prospect of Strauss; but last night, when I thought _this _wouldn't happen again..."

He stopped her words by sitting up straight and bringing her mouth back to his, his heart pounding, threads of desire and need weaving through every sinew. He moved a hand to her hip, guiding her down towards him, and then he was inside of her, the water waving up the sides of the bath, creating a tsunami that grew in power as their movements became more voracious.

He didn't care; didn't care if the floor was soaked or anyone heard them. He needed this closeness; to be as close to her as he could get. Her nails pierced the skin on his shoulders as she came with her eyes open and looking at him, her body shaking, trembling as the orgasm continued, her muscles clenching him tighter. He held onto her hips, moving in deeper, harder, making hr cry out again, and eventually he gave in to the little death that racked his whole body as he came inside her.

Neither of them spoke until the water had stilled around them, the floor drenched. She sank her head onto his shoulder and he held her against him, both spent. He didn't want to move; didn't want to lose that closeness; didn't want this feeling to end.

Hotch looked at her as she moved an inch back from him, then her mouth met his again. There was satiated passion in her kiss, and they fought to keep their skin pressed together, her breasts against his chest. Then he stood, his legs strong enough to lift them both out of the water, his arms holding her to him, and he steadied them down until they were sat dripping on the towels she had left on the floor.

"Hey," she said, mimicking his greeting from before, her hand on his chest, over his heart.

"Hey. You okay?"

She nodded, smiling softly, her eyes narrowed with exhaustion. "We should go to bed."

He nodded. "We've done a good job of making sure the floor's clean," he said, his brain slowly working back to reality.

Her eyes shone. He recognised the look and braced himself for what she was about to say next.

"It's better than having to sleep in a wet spot."

He laughed, entangling her limbs from his, any embarrassment at her seeing him naked now well and truly dispersed. "Sleep sounds like a good thing," he said, giving her his hand to help her up.

"Agreed," she said, pulling out the plug and letting the water drain. "But we need to get dry first." She passed him a towel and a smile, her eyes telling him all he needed to know.

* * *

It was late and she was tired, exhausted in fact. A quick glance at her watch told her it was past midnight and she longed for her bed and a glance at Henry. Rossi and Reid were back interviewing Martha Moore, while she had been finalising a media statement that was now done. The interview had been delayed while a lawyer was found for Martha, and then she had demanded that she slept, winning the battle through what was basically blackmail.

And there was still no sign of Alfie.

JJ slumped down on a seat that had felt uncomfortable five hours ago, but now felt like a bed in a five star hotel. As soon as Reid and Rossi called it a night, which she hoped would be within the hour, they would travel back to the safe house, and she could see her son and Will, and put her head down on a pillow and sleep.

Her eyelids had just closed when her phone rang. She fumbled for it in her pocket and didn't bother to check the caller ID.

"Is that Agent Jareau?" a male voice said, sounding panicked.

"Speaking."

"Agent Llewellyn told me to ring you direct as he's busy with something else at the minute. I was taking my dog for a walk, and thought I'd have a look round for the missing boy – Agent Llewellyn mentioned him when I spoke with him outside the school – and well, I think I've found him." He sounded excited, almost uncontrolled. "He doesn't look too good though. He's in a wooden outhouse, a shed, on the community gardens near the river. I'm outside the police department right now – I can show you where!"

"Wait where you are, I'll be there in a minute!"

She was now fully awake. Grabbing her coat she walked to the interview room where Rossi and Reid still were, Officer Newton outside watching. "I need to you to interrupt them," she said. "Tell them to meet me outside immediately; there's a witness who says he's seen Alfie in a building in the community gardens."

She didn't think to wait for them. If it was the UnSub from their case she was sure she'd recognise him. They'd all seen his FBI photo, and a rather blurred picture of how he'd changed his appearance.

Keeping her hand on her weapon, she left the station and looked around, seeing no one. It was almost pitch black outside; the building the only one on this stretch of road and the trees concealed the street lamps. She looked around again, feeling on edge, a shiver running through her that had nothing to do with the cold.

Realisation that it was a rouse hit her just before she felt someone grab her from behind, a damp cloth pushed across her mouth; and she vaguely recognised the faint sweet taste of chloroform as her eyes closed.

* * *

_Inane Sarah questions restart: When you read crime fiction, do you prefer it to be about the crime, or do you need to have detail about the lead detective, and have a sub plot involving their personal life? After I've done this mini fic (we're looking around 12 chapters for the next one, and Ireland is winning so far!) I'll be returning to writing original fiction, bar the odd one/two shot, and I'm trying to do a little 'research'!_

_Sarah x_


	43. Chapter Forty Two

_Thank you SO much to everyone who reviewed the previous chapter! It was the most reviews for ages, so it's clear, dear readers, that you rather like beautifully done prose... or maybe it was the smut!_

_Shorter chapter up tonight as I've been feeling aggrieved by car dealers today – and had to go in work to sort out my classroom. I'll be replying to reviews tomorrow with a short HP piece as a thank you._

_I'm approaching 1000 reviews (wow!). Whoever is my 1000__th__ reviewer I will write a oneshot for them based around any HP prompt they like, or the 'unseen' bit of an episode..._

_If you review, which I hope you will, when did you first start to think of HP as a ship, and if this is your bag, which episode prompted you to think that there might be an undercurrent of a relationship there. I do wonder if this is how Prentiss will leave the show..._

_I have a new oneshot posted called 'Colorado' if anyone's interested and hasn't already read!_

_**Calling all CM readers and authors! Join us for our first Profiler's Choice CM Awards on ! Help us choose the best of the best of the CM stories on , and let your voice be heard. Anyone with a account is eligible to nominate. Please check out the nominating ballot and rules at Chit Chat on Author's Forum at .net/topic/74868/30888142/1/. All rules and information are on the forum.**_

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"Night hangs like a prisoner,

Stretched over black and blue,

Hear their heartbeat,

We hear their heartbeat."

**- U2, **_**Mothers of the Disappeared**_

**Chapter Forty-Two**

**November 10****th**

The silence outside was too quiet; a statement that Reid knew wasn't possible, but it summed up what they had found. A few stars twinkled brightly in a sky that had only just stopped shedding rain, the darkness an unseeing witness into what Reid knew had just happened.

"She can't be far," he said, noting that his voice was shaking. "It's only four minutes since she gave the message to Officer Dickinson. Even at speed, she can't be far."

Rossi's lack of words was unsettling him and Reid felt desperate for some form of reassurance, the kind Rossi was always so good at handing out.

"We need to get men out looking for her. Call out search teams..."

"We don't know what we're looking for," Rossi said, his voice almost inaudible. "She said Alfie was in an out building in the community gardens nearby – we should direct the search teams to those; I think there are a couple in the neighbourhood."

"You think that's where she's gone? She would have waited. She wouldn't have gone without us!" Reid knew he sounded almost hysterical, but he was beginning to panic. "We need a helicopter – start looking for vehicles travelling quickly..."

"Reid," Rossi said, his voice loud and firm this time. "Call Hotch. Tell him and Emily to get here now. I'll start to get people looking straightaway. You need to hold it together – we're going to need you if she's not at the gardens."

Reid nodded, feeling numb, as is someone had anesthetised him from the inside. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialled Hotch's number from memory, not even having to think about pressing the digits. Hotch sounded sleepy when he answered, his first words not quite coherent.

"Hotch, JJ's gone. You need to get here fast. Now," Reid said, the words jumbling in his mouth like he was suffering from aphasia.

"Reid, slow down. What's happened?" Reid heard Emily's voice in the background.

"JJ went outside to meet someone who said he knew where Alfie was and now she's gone," Reid said, sure he hadn't inhaled since finding JJ wasn't there.

"Okay," Hotch's voice was controlled, calm. "Have you checked the place where she said Alfie was?"

"Rossi's onto the search teams to go now." An ambulance siren blared in the distance. Reid wondered where it was heading.

"Emily and I are on our way. I'll have Garcia start to check traffic cameras in the vicinity. Keep ringing her phone; she may just have gone to look for Alfie," Hotch said.

"But it's not likely is it? We said at the start JJ was the probable target. We should have told her, Hotch, then she might have been more careful. She might not have gone out. We should have said something," he knew he was rambling, but it was making him feel better. Slightly anyhow.

"Reid, JJ knew she was a likely target for our stalker. And we all knew we had to be careful. But it's late, it's been a hell of a day, and she thought one case was about to be over. Go to Rossi and tell him you're going to where JJ was told Alfie was. Help head up the search for him and hopefully she'll be there too. You got that, Reid?"

"Hotch," he said, not knowing if he got that or not, just that JJ wasn't with them and she should be.

* * *

Rossi had already tried her phone, which was going straight through to voicemail. He'd figured that reception could be a bit dodgy, or that her battery had died. Or that someone else had turned it off. He knew that Garcia would be searching for any sign of it being switched on, but that wasn't something to hold his breath for.

"Reid," he said, as he saw him. "Is Hotch on his way?"

Reid nodded. "He told me to go to the community gardens and see if she is there," Reid said, his voice almost mechanical.

"Then you do that. We already have four cars out on patrol, and a copter has been requested."

Reid nodded again. "Who shall I go with?"

"Officer Trent is just about to head over there. He's going to walk the way JJ would have from here," Rossi gestured to Trent and watched Reid step over to him. He should have told Reid to put on a jacket as it was freezing outside, but Rossi knew he wouldn't feel the cold at the moment, and the instruction would just confuse him.

"Dave."

Rossi heard a familiar voice and turned round to see Llewellyn emerging from a small cleaning cupboard he seemed to have used as a hide out.

"If Dan Clark has her, he's likely to still be on the move. He has no known connection to any property within an eight mile radius, unless there's something we don't know about," Llewellyn said. Rossi could see a trace of worry in his face that was usually as expressionless as a puddle.

"Shouldn't you know everything about him by now?" Rossi said, impatience brewing like a thunderstorm in a heat wave.

Llewellyn nodded. "But we're not dealing with your common stalker here. He's incredibly intelligent. His IQ is off the scale and he is pretty much a genius with technology. He'll be able to hide property easily from searches. He's been planning this for God knows how long."

"You think this was planned tonight?" Rossi said, doubting that anyone could have that good a crystal ball.

Llewellyn shook his head. "He was obviously planning something with the bomb under Hotch's car, and the tracker in your phone. I suspect he may have tried to abduct JJ from the safe house. He doesn't know that the bomb has been discovered either, so we may have one over on him there. Taking JJ now is opportunistic – but it will be interesting to see if he has found the boy."

"I can think of other words," Rossi said, looking to the open door through which cold air was streaming.

He walked out into the night, a melee of officers now merging round him. People were being called in from anywhere that had anyone spare on a double hunt. Seeking an FBI agent and a child, both missing on this most chilled of nights.

* * *

He could see her, her eyes closed. Like sleeping beauty. He was finally taking her home, taking her back to a safe place where he could begin to show her the new life he had planned for them.

And in a few minutes, he would hear that Alfie Fletcher had been found safe and well. Safe and well just like his beautiful sleeping butterfly.

It had been easier than he had thought. He'd imagined he would have somehow had to get her on her own away from those two imbeciles, Reid and Rossi, but instead she'd come alone. He'd have to speak to her about that, about watching her personal safety. He could risk this happening again, that someone else, maybe that idiotic fiancé of hers, would try to take her back. No, he'd have to keep a very close eye on his angel, make sure she wasn't caught in anyone else's net.

He checked his mirrors, although he was certain he'd not seen the lights of any other vehicle. There was no doubt in his mind that they wouldn't find him; he was more intelligent than they were, as he had already proven over the course of the last few days. When he returned home, he'd let the Sophie girl go; take her to some place she could be found and returned to Prentiss, with a message of course. His butterfly had been given to him, so he was giving back theirs. It would be a peace offering they couldn't refuse, and then all would be forgiven. JJ would bring him into their midst.

When she woke she would see him properly for the first time. He'd no longer just be the guy she sometimes stood next to while making coffee, or passed in the coffee shop. He'd be her sun, her centre, because he knew that she would be love with him when she realised.

He knew.

* * *

Reid wasn't really looking where he was going. Usually his eyes would be focused on his feet, especially if it was dark, as he had a habit of tripping up or stumbling. But tonight his eyes were everywhere, thus he did keep losing his footing, and he was pretty sure he'd twisted something in his foot, probably his tibialis anterior. And he hadn't seen JJ.

Panic could be controlled, he knew that, and he had tried some of the techniques he'd told others over the years; breath control, visualisation, repeating a mantra. They weren't working, and he hadn't expected them to. He tried to focus on developing the profile that they had now they knew the individual that was responsible for the attacks, and probably JJ's abduction, and Reid found that that steadied him some. He knew that JJ was unlikely to be harmed if she was compliant, if she smiled and showed that she accepted what he was saying. If she fought back, then he was likely to be rougher with her, because things weren't going his way. Reid wished they had gone through this before; how they thought he would react if he was to take one of them, but they hadn't. Their investigation so far had been full of holes, given to their mental states and the double case they'd been working.

But it was no excuse now.

"We've found him!"

The world should have stopped at that point, and rejoicing should have been had. They should have patted themselves on the back, smiled and gone back to a hotel or home, knowing they had done their job, but those three words were not enough tonight.

Reid quickened his pace, still looking for JJ in the crowd of officers and civilians who had been helping to find Alfie, but the usual desperation to reach the final point in a case was not there.

He pushed through the crowd that had formed towards the shed whose door now hung off its hinges, and Reid saw a small almost skeleton of a boy, lying there with his feet bound with duct tape, some that was used by his side, and an untouched plate of food close by. He'd been bound, then untied by someone, but Alfie had lacked the strength to eat, or had maybe been unconscious by then anyway.

"His pulse is weak," one of the officers said. "It's faint, real faint."

Someone passed blankets over and the boy was wrapped up, his skin looking grey. Reid took a step back, his heart aching for the child, but he still needed to find JJ.

He began to shout her name, as if calling a badly behaved dog back from its unleashed walk, but no one heard, no one was listening. He yelled again, stepping away from the bustling crowd, hearing sirens in the distance, calling her name. But there was no answer.

No returned call, no returned words.

Just the night, listening for heartbeats, however faint.


	44. Chapter Forty Three

_A/N Thank you for the 1000 reviews! Stephanie 615 was the 1000__th__ reviewer, so I'll be writing a HP oneshot to her liking! Thank you to HP Geek, Schokokaffee, HPForever, Aphrodite96 and Anon for their reviews too. I have set out a short extra scene to regular reviewers. If you haven't had yours, please PM me or email me._

_Enjoy – I'll update on Sunday. You'll recognise some of this..._

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"The two of us in that room. No past, no future. All in tense, deep that-time-only. A feeling that everything must end, the music, ourselves, the moon, everything. That if you get to the heart of things you find sadness for ever and ever, everywhere; but a beautiful silver sadness, like a Christ face."

**- John Fowles**

**Chapter Forty-Three**

Morgan cast a look at Hotch, an unspoken sentence hanging in the air. There were too many what ifs to contemplate, the worse not even being worth considering at that moment in time. They knew it was unlikely that Dan Clark would harm JJ, not at first anyhow, and she had only been gone minutes. Morgan had to keep that thought in his head, ignore the caveman instinct to go and find Clark and then torture him in a way that would make his testicles shrivel and the rest of his body crease in agony. But he couldn't do that, and neither could Will, who was now standing in the doorway, looking impatient and more than a little agitated.

"We will find her," Morgan said. "You know that."

Will nodded. "What's Hotch told you to do?"

"Stay here with Garcia and Lynch and build on what we know about Clark. We need a geographical profile – start identifying properties," Morgan said, trying not to feel pissed that he couldn't go out there himself. But today had exhausted him, and he was meant to be on light duties as it was. He daren't argue with Hotch right now; they were one man down with JJ, and Hotch would not risk Morgan being any further injured. Besides, Morgan was struggling to even walk down the stairs at present.

Will ran his hand through his hair, his eyes dark with the thoughts that were tumbling through his mind. "Will you look after Henry while I go with Hotch?"

Morgan nodded. "If that's okay with the boss-man." He glanced to where Hotch was standing, pulling on the thick waterproof coat that had been left hanging to dry near the kitchen door.

Hotch nodded. "I need you to be law enforcement and not the missing's fiancé," he said, already having depersonalised JJ, meaning he could try to lead this investigation without emotion.

"I can try," Will said. "Tell me what you want me to do, and I'll do it. But I can't sit here."

"Okay. Start by getting your coat. It's still raining out there, and it's cold."

Morgan noticed Emily appear, already dressed for the weather in fatigues and a waterproof coat. Her hair was scraped back and he saw only a minimal amount of make up; clearly time was a priority.

"You'll keep me informed?" he said, looking at Hotch who nodded.

"You'll keep directing Garcia and Lynch where to look?" Will said. "They're good..."

"But they need directing. They're not profilers. I guess Reid gets the action man job for tonight," Morgan said, hearing movement from upstairs.

They would have laughed usually, at the thought of Reid being an action man, but the image only conjured up more spectres of desperation.

"Guys," Morgan heard Garcia's voice from behind him. "I got two more addresses connected to Clark. One's on your way." Morgan tuned out as Garcia relayed the information, noticing her demeanour instead. She was pale, tired and excruciatingly worried. She had Lynch with her, but he was glad he was here too. Garcia could be the strongest of all of them, but sometimes she needed people to scaffold her.

"Ready to go," Hotch said, back to being his man of few words. Will and Prentiss nodded, saying nothing as they left. Morgan just hoped they'd have more to say the next time he heard from them.

...

JJ woke up in a bare room, her head pounding and her mouth as dry as sand. She was tied up, but could feel no signs that she'd been hit in any way. Her captor was sitting in front of her, his eyes smiling. He looked overjoyed, an expression that sent shivers of fear through her.

"You need to let me go," she said, her words trembling. "I need to go home to my little boy."

He shook his head, still smiling. "No," he said. "We'll get Henry some other time, when you're settled. But for now, we need to talk."

He was too calm, too assured. JJ felt herself start to panic. "You owe me some answers."

There was no hint of light even flickering into the room. The one, naked light bulb hung on a long wire from the low ceiling, enough length on it for the heat of the bulb to be used as a weapon.

"I brought you here for answers. When are you going to give me some?"

There was a deep sigh. The coldness of the stone floor seemed to permeate the soles of shoes, sending shivers down spines. Then he began to pace back and forth, each footfall creating a soft noise that seemed malevolent given the circumstances.

"You need to ask me the questions first." It was a technique to buy time. The longer they stalled, the more chance there was of being found by the rest of the team.

He sat down, scraping the wooden chair back slightly, the sound echoing through the room. If it could be called a room. It was more like a large cell; soulless and anonymous. "You already know what the questions are."

"Then there are too many of them." It was surprising that the words came out without a stutter, from the coldness as well as the fear. "You need to tell me where to start."

He looked away, over at the wall, as he had done several times already. There could be some significance to the spot, although there seemed to be nothing out of place there. It would be worth investigating should he ever leave the room for any length of time.

"The beginning," he said. "That's where all stories should be started."

"Tell me about yourself."

Taking control of the conversation seemed the right thing to do. The glint of something metallic sat eye-catchingly in his pocket, but it didn't look like a gun.

"What do you want to know?" he said, pacing from one side of the room to the other.

"Why you're doing this." It was almost impossible to keep a tremble out of the words.

"If you start at the beginning, you'll know why." The power began to shift.

Realisation began to kick in. They were in a place that was completely unknown, out of the way and secluded. There'd been a brief glimpse of it when the car door had been opened and he'd needed to remove the blindfold, but that was all.

"Before I start," the tremble was back in full force this time. "Can you tell me what is in your pocket?"

"Yes, I can tell you." He looked pleased that the question had been asked. "I take it your rather inane question means you want to know what it is? He smiled, showing a line of perfectly white teeth that were probably the result of expensive dentistry. It wouldn't have been a surprise if the work had been done while he had been an adult. "It's a remote control."

"For a bomb?" Fear breathed fire through veins, the ties that bound limbs to the chair pulled at in frustration.

"Yes. For a bomb."

"What is it that you intend to do?"

He smiled at the question as if he had been expecting it all along. There was nothing urgent now about his demeanour; he was calm, at peace almost, as if everything that needed to be done had been done, and now he could revel in the aftermath of his work. "Think about it," he said. "Think about everything that you have done over the past week. What have you learned?"

She focused on her breathing, making it steady, less panicked. Since she had known he was planning another explosion her outlook had changed. Being calm was now difficult; she was in a situation where she wanted to fight or fly, and fighting certainly wasn't an option. But neither was flying. She had no idea how to get out of there, or even how to create an opportunity to look for a way out. "We have learnt about you," she said. "We know more than you think."

"You know what I wanted you to know. Enough to create fear. Enough so that your mind is now racing with the possibilities of what I've planned. You know that I have a remote control to a bomb somewhere; but you don't know where that bomb is, and you don't know if your colleagues are aware of it. You also don't know if there is a secondary explosive somewhere, because you will have profiled me to be a mission oriented killer, you think that I will kill myself once my mission has been completed." He sat down on the chair facing her, his fingers softly tapping on the wood of the table.

"There's no point me answering your questions," she said, pulling calmness from somewhere. She knew that one bomb had already been found – he wouldn't know that. "Because my answers will always be wrong." She fell silent. She had to use what she knew, what she had learned. She had to buy time.

He nodded. "Very well," he said. "Just remember I know more about you than you do about me. I've been studying you for so long that I know every inch, every crevasse of your soul."

She felt resolve harden in her, letting her eyes become like stone, cold and unreadable. They knew what he wanted his victims to do, and to survive, she was going to have to do anything but.

"Refusing to speak won't help your cause, you know." His voice was calm now, with almost a quiet laugh in his words. "And you haven't even asked what I've done with the other one. That surprises me."

She looked up at him, keeping her expression stony, and hoping that he couldn't tell that her heartbeat had risen at the mention of his first prisoner. They knew she would be unharmed. It wasn't in his profile to kill or hurt someone who posed no threat to his mission. Sophie was just a bargaining piece in this game he was playing, a very calculated bargaining piece.

However, she knew that she wasn't such an object. In the briefest of moments hatred burned in his eyes when he looked at her, the milliseconds when his true emotions flared through the half mad facade he had created. Because he wasn't mad; he was simply angry enough to know longer care what the final outcome of his actions would be, as long as he had completed what he set out to do.

"We know you haven't harmed her. You only attack those that you think have done you wrong. Sophie hasn't done anything," she said, choosing her words carefully, hoping to show him that she thought of him as an equal.

He gave her a smile that made her worry for the girl's safety, and a cold shiver ran through every bone. "We'll have to see how accurate your profile is, won't we, my dear? And just how good your colleagues actually are. Something tells me that they might not be as good as you think."

She wondered what he would do later. There was no doubt in her mind that he wasn't going to bring her food or water. She was one of the ones on whom he wanted revenge, possibly the one he wanted the most. For a moment she felt scared for her safety, a feeling she had so far managed to ward off. She was one of his obsessions, one of his desires, part of a fantasy that would never be realised. So far, concern for the rest of the team had been at the forefront of her mind, but now the silence and his continual presence were beginning to wear her down. This was part of his strategy – she pulled words from the profile – he wanted to break them down, using their weaknesses, their fears. He sought his victims when they were at their weakest, toying with them like a hunter with its prey.

A chuckle broke the silence. She looked over at him, waiting for him to speak, but he didn't. Instead he just sat there, smiling at her knowingly, toying with the detonator in his hands, the device that could kill someone somewhere else. She tried to will her fear to strength, willing herself to be calm. How could she talk him out of leaving the room? He would have to go at some point, to the bathroom, or to get food.

The thought of the bathroom made her back ache. There was no provision for her. Luckily, she'd not eaten much in the past twenty four hours, but her kidneys were now aching slightly and she knew an infection was imminent. This was another way of making her suffer, another way of him taking his revenge.

His cell phone rang, surprising both of them. He studied the screen before answering, checking to see who was calling.

"Hi, honey," he said. "No, I haven't forgotten about dinner with your mom. I'll be back soon. It's been a busy day. Yeah, I know, they're all busy days." There was a pause then a laugh. "I'll see you in fifteen minutes, sweetheart. Yeah, you too."

He put the phone away in his jacket pocket then stood up, giving her a smile. "I guess duty calls," he said. "I'll see you in the morning – maybe." He ambled to the door, its weight screaming as he pulled it open. She wondered if she could overpower him when he came back later, or in the morning, but it was doubtful. Even if she could break free of the ropes, he'd threaten her with detonating the alleged bomb if she approached him.

The alleged bomb. There was a chance the team had found the rest of them already. There was a chance it wasn't real, that it was simply a threat, like the many he'd already made. But she couldn't take that chance.

Or could she – if it meant she could get out of there?

...

"They've found Alfie Fletcher," Emily said, ending the call. "He's being taken to hospital – it doesn't look good for him."

Hotch heard a shake in her voice that worried him. "He'll get good care, Emily. But for now, as callous as it sounds, we can't think about him." He hated how his words sounded, cold and unemotional, but the boy had been found and there was nothing more they could do for him; that was down to the doctors and nurses at the hospital.

The house they were heading to had most of its lights switched on, the glow a welcoming sight in the early hours of a cold and wet morning. It was now past three am, and they had hit the time when the body was at its lowest ebb.

"If you were holding someone – or some people – captive in a house, you wouldn't have it lit up like Disneyworld, would you?" Emily said, a little bit of her usual humour easing through.

Hotch thought for a moment, then agreed. "It's unlikely. But we still need to check," he said, stopping the car in front of the house.

He was out first, Emily behind him, Will staying in the car. They'd agreed on the way there that he'd wait in the vehicle, only coming over if necessary. Hotch knocked hard on the door, music playing at a level that reminded him of what it was like to have a ruptured eardrum.

Eventually, a fair haired man of around Reid's age answered, his eyes glassy, his nose red around the nostrils.

"You know this man?" Hotch showed him a picture of Dan Clark before getting out his badge. He doubted there would be any point.

"Yeah, man, he's my landlord. He owns this place and I like, pay him rent," the drone said.

"That would be what a landlord is," Emily said, showing her badge. The drone looked a little taken back. "Have you seen him in the past three days?"

He shook his head. "Saw him two months ago when he came to look at our boiler. He saw it was broke, then got someone to come fix it. Nothing since then. I guess as long as he gets his rent on time, he doesn't really care what his tenants get up to."

"Clearly," Emily said. She backed away.

"Thank you for your time," Hotch said, following her. The door was shut without animosity, followed shortly by an increase in volume.

"She's not there, Aaron," Emily said, the use of his first name making him want to hold her again. Maybe that was the key; to keep using surnames when they were working.

"I agree. But we had to try." They walked back to the car, Will looking more and more dejected with each step they took closer.

There were no stars out tonight, he noticed. No stars and no moon. No light.

As if that had been taken as well.


	45. Chapter Forty Four

_Thank you for the reviews! 'Ware typos here – I'm writing quickly as I'm back at work on Monday, so wanting to get ahead of myself!_

_Thank you for reading and reviewing the other stories I've written recently too. I do want to do updates on Colorado and Maybe Tomorrow, but they'll likely happen once this fic has finished as they're a bit more like 'warming up' if you see what I mean! It seems I'll be taking Hotch and Prentiss to Ireland after this fic has finished; if anyone knows any myths and legends about the place, or wishes me to include a certain town, please PM or email me._

_Enjoy, and don't forget to review!_

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"A wind has blown the rain away and blown the sky away and all the leaves away, and the trees stand. I think, I too, have known autumn too long.."

**- e. e. cummings**

**Chapter Forty-Four**

**November 10th**

She'd never much liked the look of blood, particularly her own. It was dripping down her arm now, a thick, red viscous stream pouring from the nasty gash she had managed to inflict upon herself as she broke dense glass in the small window of the cellar. Sophie looked at her arm as if it was some alien limb that bore no relation to her body. She could tell she had gone pale without looking in a mirror and knew her pulse was beating too fast. Part of the issue was that she'd had very little to eat, as they'd been practically nothing left, and now she was totally out of food. She had to get out of there.

Stepping over to the small sink, she took the tea towel and wrapped it just above the deep cut, hoping to slow the blood flow like she had seen on TV. Then she found an old t shirt that looked clean and used her foot to stand on one part of it while she tried to rip it into strips. It didn't work very well, but it would be okay as a sort of bandage. She had to get out of there, somehow. He didn't seem like he was going to hurt her intentionally, but that didn't mean he wouldn't forget about her and she'd end up starving to death.

Sophie bound the rags around the cut. It needed treating properly, probably with stitches and she'd need antibiotics. She had a brief image of suffering septicaemia or some form of blood poisoning – another way to die a nasty death, and she made up her mind then to get out of there, even if it meant injuring herself further.

She was just about to go back to the window when she heard a loud slam that would have made a less substantial building shake. She'd figured that there was a second basement a while ago, based on what she remembered from the house while she was being rushed through it. Working out the dimensions of a place, or imagining something in 3D, was something that came strangely easy to her, and the size of the room she was in told her that there must be a second basement, with its own staircase.

For a second, her heart seemed to stop. She knew he was obsessed with JJ – she'd found evidence of that. Maybe he'd brought her back here. Sophie felt a new resolve within her. She had to get out of here, just in case that was JJ.

She continued to listen carefully, in case there was any sign of him coming down to see her. Realising the broken window was exposed, she made her slightly steadier legs walk over towards it, and pushed the unit back into place, using her back and the strength of her thighs to manage it. Then, thinking ahead, she took a glass from the cupboard near the sink and tried to quietly break it, leaving it in pieces. If he came in, he would see the blood, and if there was no glass, he would be puzzled as to how she had cut herself.

Then she sat back down on the sofa and closed her eyes, listening intently. She was sure she could still hear someone moving around; footsteps, talking maybe. The sounds grew nearer, closer, and she felt her heartbeat quicken.

The handle of the door keened as it was opened so she sat up, hoping she looked as if she had just woken up.

"We're going on a trip tomorrow," he said, so quiet it was almost whispered. "Somewhere nice. Canada maybe. But you will have to tell them things when they find you. If they find you." He laughed, and she couldn't tell if it was a _normal _laugh or if she was just imagining the strange echo it had. "I guess the bears might be hungry though." He looked puzzled, as if expecting her to reply, or to laugh with him. "It's a joke."

"Oh," she said. She made herself breathe deeply. "That's good. I don't suppose," she bit her lips together before saying the rest. "You have some food?"

He looked startled, and she inwardly cursed herself. It was a risk asking, but she'd be so much better getting out through that window if she had a little more strength. "Sure. I'd forgotten how much I'd left down there. I spent a few days there myself before coming to get you. I used to live down there – almost until I was married. I inherited several properties, you know, and acquired this when my mother died. But you're not interested in that. I'll get you something to eat."

He closed the door and locked it. She wasn't sure if he'd be back; if he'd remember but there wasn't anything else to do until she figured when it would be safe to carrying knocking the glass out of the frame. It would be tricky to get out, even considering her small size, so she needed to make sure there was no glass left in there, otherwise she could risk shredding herself even more than she already had done.

It wasn't long until he returned, the door unlocked and opened, and he came down the stairs carrying a tray of soup and a large sandwich. "I hope mushroom's okay," he said, leaving the tray at the bottom of the stairs on a small table. "And I only had ham for the sandwich, and a bit of cheese, so I hope you're not vegetarian or dairy intolerant or anything." He looked almost concerned.

"No, no, I'm fine," she said, not moving towards him.

"Good, good. I hope you enjoy. I need to go see if Jennifer is okay..."

"Hey," Sophie said, speaking without really thinking. It was a reaction, almost like something she'd said to a boy at school a few days ago. "You should get her a gift." She watched his face light up. "If she's just got here, she might not have everything she needs. You could go get her some nice toiletries, maybe something to wear. What time do the malls open round here?"

"Eight in the morning. You think that's a good idea?"

"Sure. Especially if you're going to be out for a few hours tomorrow when you drop me off. She'll need something to keep her sweet. You know how women can be if they feel they're not getting the right amount of attention." Sophie's heart was now racing so much she could hear it in her ears. She had to find a way to make sure he would leave the building before wanting to take her with him.

"Okay," he said. "I think you're right. I should've ordered her something from the internet, but I didn't realise she'd be here quite this soon. Thanks – I'll let you eat then sleep." He walked slowly back up the stairs and Sophie fought the urge to tell him to hurry up.

As soon as she heard the click of the lock, she hurried over to the tray and began to eat, the soup now on the warm rather than hot side, but it didn't matter. She was ravenous, and she knew she needed to build up some strength. There was no way of knowing whereabouts she was and how far she would have to walk – or run – to find someone who could help her, and come back and get JJ.

Unless...

...

Will held on to his scarf as they set off again in the car. JJ had made it for him last Christmas without him knowing. She'd knitted it sitting in various hotel rooms while she had been away from home working, using wool from bag she'd found in her grandmother's closet after she'd died. It had meant more to him than the other presents she'd bought, although he'd liked those too. The scarf was special, and holding on to it made him feel as if he was holding on to her.

"Garcia's given us another address," Emily said, looking at her phone. It's three streets away. She's just spoken to Rossi and he's said that the search parties that were looking for Alfie have agreed to help search for JJ." Emily turned around and looked at Will. "We're going to find her."

He nodded, swallowing a lump that felt the size of a baseball in his throat. "I know." He looked away from her, unable to make eye contact, even though he knew she would have an exact idea of what he was currently going through.

Hotch pulled up outside a house that looked too dark, even against its empty backdrop. Behind the house were fields that Will knew would be overgrown, desolate of anything useful, matching the building they were now studying.

"We going in?" Emily said, looking at Hotch.

"Possibly," he said, looking over her at the property. "We don't have a warrant, but frankly I don't care about that. We'll worry about that later if needs be." He opened the door and got out into the thudding rain.

Emily followed him, and this time Will got out, tucking his scarf into his coat to keep it dry. Will didn't go far; he stood at the edge of the property watching.

They knocked at the door, then Hotch shouted a couple of times, trying to get the attention of anyone who might be in the dilapidated building. There was no answer. Something tampered with Will's mind, a dicky bird of a notion, and without debate, he ran up the driveway and clamped his hand on Hotch's as he was about to pull down the handle.

"Don't," he said, semi-breathless with a foresight that had come from nowhere. "He likes explosives, doesn't he."

Hotch stepped back as if he had been punched by the door. Emily moved away with him.

"You're right," he said. "But if it's wired up, there's no chance of JJ being in here. He wouldn't have had the time."

"Let's call it in. Have a team come out here to check," Emily said. Her phone was already out of her pocket. "There may be outhouses too. We should investigate those."

Hotch nodded. "Let's get kitted up. Will – you could help us here."

He felt relieved. Hotch wasn't just treating him as a victim-by-proxy; if he had he wouldn't quite have known how to handle himself. He wasn't sure he did now, but it was better to be doing something.

There were extra Kevlar vests in the trunk, as well as torches, and he already had his Glock ready. The wind and rain had stopped in his head, unnoticeable now. He followed Hotch and Emily around the side of the house, their torches creating white beams through which the raindrops did a dance macabre.

There were three outhouses in the overgrown garden, two in a worse state of disrepair than the third. Hotch headed to that one first, seeming certain that there was no one else around.

Hotch cursed as he shone his torch through the window, and for a moment Will's entire body froze. Then he felt Emily's hand place gentle pressure on him.

"It's not her, but it looks like her," she said. "You think we were meant to find this?"

"We'll know if that door is booby-trapped or not," Hotch said, looking back to the house now.

An owl hooted, the noise startling them all. Will didn't look in the window. He didn't want to see a dead replica of JJ.

Hotch called the find in, requesting more cops and a forensics team. Emily was speaking to Garcia, pushing for details of missing blondes who looked like JJ, the grimness of the situation illustrated by the shortness of the phone call. Will knew that Garcia was too worried, too scared to say much.

He looked at the sky, its blackness overwhelming. His eyes were pricking with unwanted tears, and he didn't want the others to see his weakness, didn't want to be another victim-by-proxy.

The sirens weren't deafening, the flashes did not light up the night. It was too early in the morning to be waking folk who were sleeping, oblivious to the fears and living nightmares that other underwent.

For a moment Will wished he could run through the streets, the suburbs, the city, calling JJ's name, not caring if he woke anyone.

But he wasn't sure she'd be able to answer, and that would be something he just wouldn't be able to deal with.

* * *

_Don't forget you can now nominate your favourite fics and authors in the 2010 Profiler's Choice Awards over on ilovetvalot's forum (Chit Chat On Authors' Corner). A nomination form is available from there!_


	46. Chapter Forty Five

_Reviews seriously (worryingly) dropped for the last chapter – please do let me know how you find each chapter, otherwise paranoia seeps in and puts me off writing! We have about five more chapters to go after this, so it should be all over by a week on Thursday! Then if there's still interest I'll start the trip to Ireland fic._

_Thank you to those people who did review the last chapter. I'll reply as soon as I can, and I will write you a little extra scene at the weekend – suggestions appreciated!_

_Enjoy, and please do review._

_Sarah x_

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"It always looks darkest just before it gets totally black."

**- Charlie Brown (fictional character)**

**Chapter Forty-Five**

**November 10****th**

It had taken three cups of scalding coffee before her mouth felt defrosted enough to begin to join in the conversation. The rain had turned to snow, its grim whiteness giving the scene at the house an eerie atmosphere. The girl's eyes were glassy, almost like a doll's with their dull shine, and Emily knew she would see them again in her nightmares.

Eleven minutes after it had been called in the place was swamped with FBI agents, bringing an unnatural light to the house that it had been empty of for what appeared to be years. Emily had wanted to escape at that point; to have left in the car and never seen that place again, but they had to stay, see what they could learn about Dan Clark that was new.

They'd remained there for almost an hour before heading to the place Rossi had called them to. It was in the midst of a small hamlet, a scattering of farmhouses and stables, erected temporarily twelve years ago when there had been a suspicious death and the local officers has needed a base while they worked the case. It was cold inside, and Emily made use of the blanket Hotch had pulled from the back of their vehicle, trying to cover Reid as much as she could as well. He did not look well; the dark shadows under his eyes were worse than usual, and he had a faraway look, as if he was trying and succeeding to distance himself mentally from what was happening.

Hotch's eyes meeting hers made her focus, ignoring the cold and her concerns about Reid. "We know he's killed Lydia Callahan who has a strong resemblance to JJ. The time of her death was approximately ten to twelve days ago, when we were in Utah and around the same time Agent Mansfield was killed. Lydia was strangled to death with bare hands, most likely in the place where we found her."

"That place was owned by his great aunt's step son, Maurice Joyner," Rossi said, glancing at his hand held where Garcia's notes were on screen. "He's a property developer with around a hundred and sixteen houses either being let, renovated, or waiting to be renovated. Most are currently in the third state, as Maurice Joyner is in Switzerland at the moment, hoping to not be extradited to the U.S. for a variety of white collar crimes, leaving him oblivious as to what his distant relative is up to. Clark must have gotten the details by hacking into Joyner's company. That's too many places for us to search easily, even with however men we have at our disposal. We have to look at this from a different point of view."

"In the meantime," Hotch said. "There are three teams checking each property, working outwards from where JJ went missing. We have to sweep for explosives first."

Which would take them longer, Emily knew. But they had found a bomb, similar to the one planted at Rossi's, on the door of the house. There was no way they could take the risk of barging into a place for the sake of a few minutes. "What do we do?" she said.

"We work out where Clark is holding JJ and probably Sophie as well," Hotch said as the door opened and a printer was brought in by Agent Anderson along with the cold air and a few flakes of snow. "The list is going to get longer as we delve further into Dan Clark. He has several pseudonyms set up to help Maurice Joyner launder money, it appears. All have a convincing trail of paperwork and have been put together in the past five years."

Emily glanced at the small print that was showing on the screen of her hand held. Clearly Garcia and Lynch were onto something here, but unfortunately the something was going to add a hell of a lot to the hoops they would have to go through to find where JJ was. She rubbed her eyes, noting how dry they felt, as if someone had poured sand into them. It would have to be adrenaline that carried them all through.

"What Garcia has sent you are the details of every property that can be connected to Dan Clark in any way possible. There are two hundred and nine in total. We can discount one hundred and fifty four as they are occupied at present by paying tenants who check out as being real people etcetera, the rest need to be looked at carefully," Hotch said, looking round the table. "We know we're dealing with someone who has stalker tendencies, who has been married and can present well on a day to day basis. It's likely he's a compulsive liar, so he won't have issues with doing all this in a house that has neighbours, but I think we can agree that he'd prefer a property that is secluded and isolated. He knows the area well. Garcia has sectioned the properties into five groups according to the alphabet, so if we each take one. For any you think deserve immediate attention, call Detective Warren who is directing the search operations."

Emily nodded, looking down at her phone and making the writing larger. It was going to be difficult to concentrate in some ways; tiredness and fatigue were affecting them all. But they needed something to cling to keep them afloat, and this was it: the only thing they could do at present to help JJ.

Will had been seconded to one of the search parties. Hotch saw his restlessness and had known he wouldn't be able to sit and read and work out. He was more of a day to day cop; an intelligent one, granted, but he needed to be out doing rather than sat inside. Emily was thankful for his absence. She hadn't been sure of what to say exactly, and it felt all the time he was in the car with her and Hotch, that they had failed him, failed to keep JJ safe.

She rubbed her eyes and focused on the handheld again, thankful that the words had now stopped jumping and she could make some sense out of them.

...

Silence brought no comfort or kindness. The stone grey walls gave away no secrets, and shared no warmth. She shivered, trying to push away memories of a warm bed, a warm home, and steeled resolve within herself, bracing for a long night.

This was a form of torture. She knew he had planned it carefully, knowing what would most upset her. The small room, the bound hands, the enclosed space. It reminded her of North Mamon, and the three girls who'd been kept locked in a basement, having to chose which one lived. That choice wasn't necessary here; she just had to decide on her actions without knowing their consequences.

Her fingers were numb with the cold and lack of movement. If she could loosen the ties and break free, she could sit and wait for him when he entered, catch him off guard, off balance and somehow get past him. But then she wouldn't know where she was, or how to get back home - or to the BAU.

Yet she couldn't be reliant on him as she was now. It had been nearly twenty four hours since he'd taken her, captured her like a butterfly in a net, then doused her with a poison that had prevented any memories of the journey.

JJ pulled at the ropes that tied her to the chair. They bound like an attacking snake around her wrists. Then suddenly she stopped; reclaiming sanity. Craning her neck, she looked at the tie on her right hand. If she could manipulate the rope to gain some slack, she could eventually free her hand. And once her right hand was free, she could untie herself.

As long as he didn't come back.

Cold sweat fell across her forehead, her hair clinging to her face. She didn't notice, intent on freeing herself. She hadn't eaten for over a day, and couldn't remember the last time she'd had a drink. The pain in her kidneys was now sharp, the familiar signs of an infection clear. How much time had passed since she had begun her task she didn't know; time no longer seemed relevant. And then there was a fierce pull, before the slackness of release. One hand was free.

...

Llewellyn stood in the middle of a field with a map in one hand and a compass in the other. He was working an instinct that Boyd would have shredded him for but Mansfield would have encouraged. He'd still not considered the fallout from Boyd; he'd been put in temporary charge of the unit, and no doubt once they had caught Mansfield's killer there would be a sea of paperwork and inquiries to drown in, but he didn't bother considering it right now.

He felt calm, unflustered, so not a great deal had changed with Boyd's arrest. He was concerned about JJ, of course, as much as he was capable of understand concern, but he saw things in a different way. Her place of captivity was a puzzle to be solved, and puzzles always had logic.

Dawn had broke thirty minutes ago and there was just enough light for him to see the map without a torch. On it, he had circled the whereabouts of all properties Clark was connected with in the area. Reid had crossed out the ones that were unlikely and had double circled the ones that looked promising. Black marker had been used to show ones that had already been searched, and a red one had been used to show where the bodies had been found.

They'd found and identified another one. Hannah Michell, aged thirty, was another JJ lookalike. She'd been killed about two months ago and left with her driver's licence in the master bedroom of a house that had apparently been rented out.

Llewellyn looked towards the trees. He had to consider that they were looking at this wrong, that JJ wasn't hidden in some complex way, but it was something more obvious. Llewellyn folded the map and put it into his pocket, taking out his phone instead and called Lynch. He knew that Garcia had been made to take an hour to try and sleep, although he doubted she'd manage to get much.

"Kevin," he said as Lynch answered. "I want to look at something else."

"Go ahead, because right now these houses are all on dead ends," Lynch said, sounding coffee fuelled.

"Clark's current address has been ruled out, hasn't it?"

"Indeed it has. His ex-wife still lives there," Lynch said. "She was sending his bills and correspondence to a PO Box that is registered under the wife's address, so we don't have where Clark's been living confirmed."

"What about where he lived before he was married?"

"We've checked there too; it was his mother's house and where he grew up. It's currently rented out to a couple and officers have been there and spoken to them. You want the address?"

"Yes, give me a second," Llewellyn said, taking the map back out and pulling out a pen. "Go on."

Lynch gave him the address. "I've got to go," he said. "Hotch is on the other phone." He ended the call quickly.

Llewellyn stared at the map. Something wasn't right. He carried on walking.

...

Sophie knew that there was only one storey above her, and by now, she could pretty much tell whereabouts he was in the house if she listened hard enough. She listened, guessing at what he was doing: tying his shoe laces, putting on his jacket, going to the door...

She heard it open, then close. A few seconds later there was the sound of a car engine coming to life and then the rumbling faded.

Standing up immediately, she went over to the unit that blocked the window and forced it out of the way. Breathing heavily with the exertion, she crouched next to the window and assessed the glass situation. She would have to go out head first – if she did it backwards she'd probably get stuck because of her ears. She recalled Stephen Jones in her elementary school class poking his head through railings. He'd managed to get it through, but not back as his ears got in the way.

That meant she'd need to put one side of her body out first and hope the window frame could take her weight. Which also meant there needed to be as little glass there was possible. Sophie got a small heavy wooden ornament she had spied under the sofa and began to use it to knock out the fragments of glass that were left. She was thorough, taking her time rather than panicking and rushing and within minutes she had cleared the wooden frame.

Now was the hard bit. Not giving it any more thought, she used the unit to get herself level with the frame and stuck her head out, knowing that she probably wouldn't be able to get it back through without rather a lot of pain. She could have tried to have taken out the frame itself, but that would have used up more time, and she wasn't sure how long she had.

Then she swung her body so the frame was now taking all her weight, and slid her right leg and arm over, hanging precariously out of the window.

It was then she looked down.

The building had been erected on a slope, so the ground at the front of the house buried the basement, but at the back it looked out onto a garden that had been chiselled out of the ground. She had a good ten or fifteen foot drop to reach the floor and nothing to cling onto.

She was just going to have to fall.


	47. Chapter Forty Six

_Thank you to those who have reviewed! Hope you enjoy and please please review! I'll update at the weekend!_

_Don't forget the CM fanfiction awards over on the forums here. If you go to Chit Chat on Author's Forum you'll find all the details._

_Also, don't forget my C2 that contains a variety of HP stories. If you're new to reading HP Criminal Minds fanfic then this place can point you in the direction of some excellent reads, and if you've been reading for a while, I'm sure they'll be some fics there you haven't read before! Thanks to the wonderful __**Kimmeke**__who has been adding to it like crazy!_

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"Wisdom is nothing more than healed pain."

**- Robert Gary Lee**

**Chapter Forty-Six**

**November 10****th**

Reid had moved his chair so it was underneath the window. He had distaste for too much artificial light, preferring it to be natural, or candlelit. Morgan had teased him mercilessly when he had said that once, asking Reid asking _who_ he had to share the candlelight with him. Reid had become defensive at first, trying to explain how candlelight made him feel timeless somehow, and it wasn't to do with romance. He hadn't won the argument; he never did, unless it was about something Morgan had no idea on. But sat there now, under the dim light of the new day, Reid remembered the conversation and felt a slight pang for someone to share candlelight with occasionally.

He knew they thought him impervious to relationships, and he guess in some ways they were right; he didn't have to have a girlfriend, or someone he could call after a long day, but he did like company, and he liked to be liked. It would be nice to be able to meet up with a girl and talk about things that interested them both, and have fun. For him to be able to have someone to look after.

He caught his thoughts and placed them in the back of his mind. Now was not the time to consider them. He had to focus on JJ and where she might be, then they could bring her back to her family. Reid looked again at a house that was bothering him. It had already been visited by one of the search teams, the main building occupied by tenants who had spoken very little English. The house was an old one, built a hundred and twenty years ago, and from an aerial photo taken two years ago, the outbuildings looked to be in a state of disrepair.

But that could have changed.

"Hey, Hotch," Reid said, leaving his window seat and taking the details over to where Hotch was engrossed in his own set of house details. "What do you think of this? The buildings around the main house don't look to have been touched for years from this photo, but what if some maintenance had been carried out?"

"It's somewhere that's already been searched, isn't it?" Hotch said, frowning.

"Only the main house was called on, and it's occupied. There's one outbuilding that has its own driveway, and is set about an acre and a half from the main building. It's detailed as having large basements, and was almost turned into a holiday cottage about thirty years ago. I think I'll have Kevin check to see if any work has been done recently on it," Reid said, making his way back.

Hotch nodded, his eyes having already returned to the page he had been studying. "Fine, Reid. We'll add it to the list for the search team to go back to. See what else you can find. I'd send them now, but they're the other side of the city, and unless we have clear evidence to suggest that that's where they are, we need to do this in a logical order."

"Sure," Reid said, bowing his head to focus on his computer. He missed JJ being there. He'd found her really attractive at first, hand gotten a little tongue tied around her, but that had eased eventually, after they had been out together a few times as friends. She made him feel comfortable, and she'd always been great for giving advice about asking girls out, more so than Morgan. He wished she was there now, and they were just looking for Sophie.

Reid picked up his phone from next to the computer and dialled Kevin. The answer occurred even before the phone had rang once, and Reid momentarily wondered if telepathy did exist. "Kevin?" he said. "You answered that real quick."

"I was just about to call you," Lynch said. "There's a house on your list that was vacated three weeks ago by the tenants – we've just traced them to an apartment in New York – although the lease isn't up for another two months. They've paid up for it, but have definitely left – well, either that, or some major identity fraud is going on. The house is 236 Orchard Lane. Garcia's about to call Hotch to tell him that the body they found earlier has been identified."

"That's great, Kevin. I'll have a closer look at Orchard Lane. Can you run some searches on another property?" he went through the details.

"Sure. I'll call you back as soon as I can. Let's hope this is over soon. Henry's missing his mom," Lynch said.

"Is he crying?" Reid said. "Get him an item of JJ's clothing so he can smell her scent. It will reassure him. And try to be calm around him; babies pick up on any tension, and as they don't understand it, they won't be able to process what it means and deal with it..."

"I gotcha, Reid. Over and out." Lynch ended the call leaving Reid looking at the aerial photograph of Linney Lane and the landscaped garden that would have once been so pretty which graced the back of the distant outbuilding.

...

She sat in the corner, near the door, exhausted. Sleep could not come; its presence was unwelcome, however much her body was demanding it. The past week had taken its toll on every member of the team; secrets had been revealed, private practises exposed, and they'd still had to deal with a case that had twisted like a snake – and with as much venom. But she couldn't sleep, for she knew that as soon as her eyes closed, he would return.

He had a wife, that was clear. They'd been right about that in the profile. And the conclusion they'd reached about his place of work was also correct. They knew him, though not well though. Certainly not as well as he knew them.

Every single one of them.

But she was his target. She was the reason for the things he had done, and she would have to live with that guilt. But she knew that was one of his forms of torture.

She rubbed at her wrists that were still chaffed from the rope. It was possible that he meant for her to untie them, to break free. He could well be expecting her to be lying in wait for him the next time he opened the door.

The door was a secure one, and it looked new. She had figured there were about five different bolts, which accounted for the time it took him to unlock the door. A dagger of pain flicked from her kidneys and she winced. He would know about her propensity for infections there, he would have read it in her file.

A strong sense of hatred and indignation sprang from her, enough to provide another boost of energy. That was all she was running on; the emotions she could conjure up from her situation, from her friends' situation, from Sophie's.

It was a cruel act, to take her, after everything she had already been through. But he knew that of course, knew every detail about the case in Calverville Point, and although he had no desire to hurt Sophie directly – they knew he empathised with her – she was the perfect bait and the most faultless way to cause pain for Emily. Emily – someone else he blamed.

She stiffened her back, trying to block out the agony that was threatening to double her over. If she could just wrong foot him, just catch him off guard, then maybe she could slip through the door and get out of there.

But would he then use that remote control and detonate whatever cruel plan his brain had been devising over the past five years?

She waited. Right now, it was all she could do.

...

Emily looked around her and frowned. Everyone's head was down, studying details of houses and intermittently phoning an officer to instruct them where to check next. Something didn't sit right with her on this. She stood up and sat on the old wooden desk that looked like it had been brought over on the Mayflower.

"Guys," she said, noticing Hotch look at her with curiosity. "We're profiling each house to see if it's somewhere Clark could hide JJ and Sophie. Let's do it the other way round for a moment. Clark's recently divorced after his wife had an affair; he's confident and overly self assured with a narcissistic personality type. Where will he feel safest to take Sophie and JJ? We know it has to be somewhere that his comings and goings won't be noticed, but let's think on his level."

"If he perceives JJ to be 'the one', he would take her to a place of significance, a family home. He already had one of those with his ex-wife, and it's a place that does have land with it. She inherited it from her grandparents, and she's out of the country at present with her new partner. I suggest we go over it more thoroughly now it's light," Rossi said.

"What about his childhood home?" Reid said. "It's perfect for hiding someone as it's secluded, and it would have the emotional safety that his married home doesn't have. There is an outhouse that was renovated thirty years ago into a holiday cottage, and work was done on it last year, including a new roof. By taking JJ there, it would be as if he was introducing her to his parents, I guess. Like a formal meeting."

Hotch stood up now and walked over to Emily. "So we've got two key places. Is there anywhere else?"

No one responded.

"Then we'll head to the old family home as we're nearer. I'll send one of the other search teams to his ex-wife's. Get ready to go."

They all began to move, sleep scattering with the last curtains of night. Then a phone rang, her phone, flashing JJ's name.

...

He'd reached the mall just as it had opened, meaning he'd have more space to move around and he wouldn't have to queue. He'd decided to buy JJ some underwear from a boutique where his ex-wife used to shop. The feelings of animosity he'd had towards her had gone, particularly when he'd seen JJ's face as he'd pretended to speak with his wife. She'd looked jealous. They'd been something in her eyes that told him she was already becoming his. He'd have to confess later that he was divorced at that the pretend call had just been to test her feelings towards him. But she'd passed that test perfectly, just as he knew she would.

The boutique was called Frilly's, a ridiculous name he'd often thought, and it was empty of any other shoppers. A shop assistant came over to him almost immediately, and he gave her a smile he knew to reassuring.

"Can I help you, sir?" she said, smiling back.

"I'm looking for a gift for my girlfriend. What can you suggest?"

"What does she like?" she smiled again.

He shrugged, looking helpless. "I think she'd like something... sheer maybe. She has an amazing figure."

She directed him over to a stand containing sheer white baby doll dresses, with matching suspenders and stockings, and a tiny pair of panties. It would leave little to the imagination, and he felt his heart rate sore. Later would be beautiful, a meeting of two people who needed to be together. Today could only be a good day. "One of these would be amazing. She'll love it."

The shop assistant just smiled.

He paid with cash and then headed to the jewellery store that was directly opposite. He knew she would like whatever he got her, so it would be best to choose something that he would like to see on her. A pendant on a long chain caught his eye; it would sit exactly between her breasts, and the image it conjured in his mind was enough to make his pants feel tight. He paid for that quickly, then decided that a coffee and some breakfast was needed before he made his phone call.

He chose a table away from the counter, mouthing to the waitress that he wanted a latte, then he dialled a number from the shiny cell phone he had in his pocket. Emily, the number was identified as. No surname, just Emily. It annoyed him slightly, this friend of his JJ's. She had too much influence. He'd have to see about her being transferred, get her out of the way. Or, he could see it that one of his back up plans did come into fruition later. That was always an option.

"Hello?" There was tension in the greeting. She was trying to remain calm, he could tell, but could quite hide her panic.

"Hello, Emily Prentiss. We finally speak," he said. "Well, I say finally. We've spoken quite a few times before, but you've always been too high and mighty to pay much attention to my feelings. Anyhow, we shall discuss this later. Can I speak with Agent Hotchner?"

"Hello Dan," Agent Hotch said. The use of his first name startled him. He'd expected more respect.

"Agent Hotchner, I'm calling to discuss terms."

"And what terms will those be?"

Dan sighed. "I should have been in the BAU years ago, when you gave the job to Penelope Garcia. But you made a mistake by employing her, although I suppose you had to, what with her being female and having a Hispanic surname. Anyway, I know they'll be no problem me transferring to that team now. JJ and I have quite a gift together; that will only benefit the work that you do. I'll expect my position to be fairly senior too..." He heard Agent Hotchner saying his name. "Yes, Agent Hotchner?"

"That won't be possible, Dan. We can't just move you into the unit like that."

For a moment he felt elation. There was no one saying that they didn't want him, no one saying that he had to bring JJ back. Then he felt a little flattened. "Why not. You've noticed me now. You can see how good I am. How wrong you were to not appoint me in the first place."

"Dan, Strauss is away for another week on vacation. When she's back we'll put it to her, but in the meantime why don't you and I meet up and discuss what sort of role you want to play in the team," Agent Hotchner said. "Then we'll sort the formalities when Strauss returns. You know what she's like; she hates anyone to be appointed without her agreement."

Dan saw the waitress staring at him, looking at him just like the girls in high school had when they'd been laughing. He knew then that Agent Hotchner was lying. He was good at lying. But Dan knew he was better at working out the lies. Strauss didn't control that team, Hotchner did. It was only Emily she'd appointed.

"Meet me at Lobelia Avenue, number twelve. I'm house sitting for my wife while she's on vacation. JJ will be there too. She's concerned that I come out well in this, you know. She can see how good I am for the team and for her," he said. "You need directions?"

"No," Agent Hotchner said. "We'll be there. What time?"

Hotchner sounded sincere. "One pm. Just you and Emily Prentiss."

And that would solve those problems. Dan hung up. Maybe he should buy JJ something pretty to wear.

...

Sophie wasn't exactly certain how long she'd been unconscious for, but she was pretty sure it hadn't been too long. Her head ached, and she could feel a bump where she's banged it against the wall when she'd fallen, but it could have been worse.

She sat up slowly, taking deep, slow breaths, and found that she wasn't too dizzy. Gradually she stood, holding onto the low branches of a tree she'd narrowly missed, and looked around.

It was truly the middle of nowhere.

The ground was muddy and she struggled not to slip, thankful she had chosen to wear the one decent pair of sneakers that she had. She headed towards the stone steps that led out of the sunken garden, and then walked around the side of the house, keeping close to the shrubbery. She would hear him if he came back, but she'd rather have somewhere close to hide.

The thought of being caught made her feel a little chocked, her skin tingling with worry. She had two choices; to flee quickly and get help, or to get JJ out of there first. The second option had been the one she'd picked, although there was now the issue of how to get back inside.

The front door was new and looked too secure to try and break down. She wasn't sure either if she'd have been able to break down any door, but it was worth a thought. The windows however, weren't as sturdy, and she considered herself something of an expert now in getting in and out through windows. Another good thing was that they were bigger than the one she had exited through, and therefore she wouldn't need to take as much care, or end up falling on purpose.

There was a large tree branch or root that had been left nearby, either by the wind or an animal, and it looked heavy enough to do the job. She picked it up, wincing when she saw a beetle scuttle from under it, but she didn't have time to be squeamish right now. Using both hands, she grasped the stick, holding it over her right shoulder, and rammed it into the window using her body weight. The glass shattered instantly, and keeping hold of the stick, she climbed up onto the windowsill and levied herself inside what was a living room.

Not pausing to look round, she ran through the room and into the hallway, finding the stairs to the second basement easily. She knew roughly where it must be, having had the time to give it a lot of thought, and she almost fell down them in her haste.

There were seven bolts on the door, each one new looking, but there was no lock – her first real bit of luck. Sophie undid them, shouting JJ's name, and hoping and praying that she would be okay.

The door opened as if by itself, and Sophie saw the familiar figure of Agent Jareau. She looked pale and tired, smaller than what Sophie remembered. Then Sophie realised that there were tears trickling down her cheeks and she couldn't speak. Arms fell around her, a soft voice telling her that it would be okay, and Sophie felt herself being guided back up the stairs, everything finally blurring into a nightmare that might almost be over.


	48. Chapter Forty Seven

_Thank you to those people who reviewed the last chapter! You make me want to get this story finished!_

_Don't forget to have a look at the Profiler's Choice Awards for CM fanfic, which can be found on ilovetvalot's forum, Chit Chat on Author's Corner. There is one category for best OC – if you've read How Far Away the Stars and liked it, give a thought to Marguerite. (I feel bad for pimping my own fics now!)_

_If you want more good HP fics to read (that aren't mine!) do check out my C2 – 'Hiding from Strauss' – you can get to it through my profile._

_And maybe I shouldn't say this yet, as I didn't tell her I was going to, but __**Sussi Ray **__and I have teamed up to write a short multi-chapter under the name of __**Ray Maks. **__We'll hopefully begin to post in the next week or so!_

_Enjoy, and please review..._

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"Dum spiro, spero."

("While I breathe, I hope.")

**- Latin proverb.**

**Chapter Forty-Seven**

**November 10****th**

The girl was trembling more than JJ had thought was possible for a human to do. She was thinner than she remembered, a result of several days trapped with possibly little or no food, but she looked okay. "We have to get out of here. Is he out?" JJ said, using her arms to push Sophie away from her so she could better assess what state she was in. The pain in her back was still there, and she knew she needed to use the bathroom, or a bush, or anywhere, as soon as they were somewhere that was safe to.

"He's gone to buy you a present from a mall. But I don't know how far the nearest mall is," Sophie said, her sobs subsiding. JJ was almost bowled over by the girl's resilience. "We seem to be in the middle of nowhere. I walked around the house and it's just woodlands and fields."

"Is your cell phone working?" JJ said, knowing that he had hers.

Sophie shook her head. "I didn't have much battery left and it ran out early on." They had begun to walk up the stairs, JJ realising that speed was needed now. Her hearing seemed to have become acute and she was listening intently for every sound, seeing if she could attribute it to him.

She didn't notice the interior of the house, following Sophie to the front door which the girl quickly worked out how to unlock, and then they were outside, the fresh air seeming like a medicine no doctor could prescribe.

Sophie had started to run towards a clearing of trees that were dense in their thickness, and evergreen. It was a logical plan; to get away from the building and then decide what to do next. With no phone and no idea of where they were they were in a bit of a predicament, and JJ wasn't sure how clear her thoughts could be. She was racked with pain now, the infection in her kidneys, and she felt nauseous and feverish.

JJ kept up with Sophie as best she could, trying to ignore the electrical shocks that was becoming unbearable. "Sophie!" she said, trying to keep her voice low. "You carry on – I'll see you there."

The girl disobeyed the instructions immediately, stopping in her tracks. "What's the matter?" she said, when they were close enough. Sophie then slowed her pace to keep with JJ.

"I have a water infection. It's something I'm susceptible to, and with no water, and I haven't been able to use a bathroom - "

"As soon as we have cover I'll keep guard," Sophie said, reminding JJ of being back in fourth grade and having a bathroom door guarded by her friends. "I found some things of his in the room where he was hiding me."

"What like?" The trees were closer now. They would be there in a few seconds.

"Details about explosives. There was one in the house, under the bed where I slept. It had a number on it so I think there are more. He had details for putting bombs in cars, and in buildings. He'd written down addresses to – like he'd made a list."

"Can you remember where?" JJ said, the shadow of the trees now creeping over them.

Sophie nodded, slowing down as they stepped under the branches. "I memorised them."

They were now concealed in the woodland, little daylight pouring through. JJ bent double, a searing pain shooting through her and causing her to gasp.

"Go behind that bush," Sophie said. "There's been no sound of an engine. Go and then we'll be able to come up with what to do next."

JJ nodded, stepping away from Sophie. The girl was right – this woodland was the first place he'd start to look as it was the most obvious area to hide. They couldn't stay there. JJ crouched down, releasing her bladder and wincing again at the pain as she passed water. She imagined there would be blood in her urine and she cursed her weakness. "Can you hear any streams or sounds of water?" she shouted to Sophie, holding her head in an attempt to not yell out.

"I think so," Sophie said. "If we can find water, we can follow it downhill – it will probably lead to civilisation."

JJ tidied herself up as best she could then stepped from behind the bush. "And I can get a drink," she smiled at the girl. "We'll be safe by sunset." She wasn't sure if she believed herself or not, but she had to be strong.

Sophie shrugged. "Maybe. At least it's not raining. What did he do to you?"

"Nothing much," JJ said. "He made a lot of accusations. And he has a remote device on him that I think is a detonator. He's probably targeting the rest of the team."

"He's obsessed with you," Sophie said. "I suggested he went to buy you a gift. I knew he'd be out of at least an hour – but it must be more now. I fell when I got out of my room and I don't know how long I was out for."

"Unconscious?" JJ said, a mixture of concern and admiration filling her. She was trying to ignore the temperature that was now raging and the feeling of nausea. It wasn't easy.

"I guess. We should get moving."

JJ nodded, then froze, the sound of an engine purring quietly somewhere in the distance.

...

"We're sending the bomb squad to Lobelia Avenue but we're heading to Linney Lane – Clark's mother's old home. There's no way he would want us to get hold of JJ," Hotch said, his voice filled with the quiet determination that he relied on in times of crises. "He's trying to lead us into an explosion. Let's go."

"Hotch," Reid said. "Llewellyn's already nearby."

"What's he doing there? Is he on his own?"

"He has a team nearby, I think. But he was curious about the place, so he went to check it out. He's stayed on foot since JJ went missing," Reid explained, hoping he wasn't getting Llewellyn into trouble.

"Has he slept?" Hotch said, a strange question since Reid knew Hotch had had less than an hour's sleep himself.

"Llewellyn doesn't seem to need sleep," Rossi said, pulling on his thick overcoat which Reid was rather envious of. "We'll take two cars, Hotch. You and Emily, and Reid and I. Let Emily drive so you can talk, we don't have time to do it now."

Hotch nodded. "Reid, call Llewellyn and tell him to make his way over there, but not to act on anything until either we're there, or he has other back-up."

Reid pulled out his phone and dialled the number. "Llewellyn?" he said as Llewellyn answered. "How far off Linney Lane are you?"

"Five minutes on foot. It's the only place he can be. We started the search for JJ quickly we should have picked up on his vehicle. He had to have taken her some place close," Llewellyn said. "I'll meet you there."

"Excellent," Reid said, hanging up.

It seemed they were finally making progress.

...

He knew he hadn't left the door open. He knew also that he hadn't broken a window that morning. It meant only one thing; one of them had escaped. If it was Sophie he could live with it, she was unnecessary to him anyway, except as a bargaining tool if he'd needed it, and it would save him a possible trip to Canada, although he'd kind of decided against that.

He wanted so much. He wanted Jennifer to love him like he did her. He wanted to be a part of the BAU, the team he'd watched for so many years. He wanted to live a life he knew would be perfect, a life he deserved. A life he was owed. And now one of them was not abiding by the rules that needed to be followed for him to achieve that goal, that right.

He paced into the house and checked Jennifer's room first. He was going to bring her out of their later, show her what he had bought and watch her try it on. All the way back he had fantasised about her wearing the jewellery he had purchased; that and nothing else. It had made him uncomfortably hard and he had wondered how much longer he could wait.

Her door was open, unlocked.

Jennifer had gone.

Anger boiled inside of him. He didn't think how she had managed it; her knew she was magical anyway, and was capable of anything, but he didn't think she wanted to escape. She loved him, he knew she did. He was certain.

Then he went to Sophie's room and found it locked. He didn't bother to check inside; she wouldn't have been able to escape. She was a good girl.

He was upset now; Jennifer should know they were meant to be together. She'd told him so when she'd spoken to him at the academy, when she'd smiled at him as they passed in the corridor. He could tell she wanted to be him, and now she'd gone. She was a tease, like they all were. Like the girls at school had been.

He ran up the steps and back outside, looking round to see where she had gone. She wouldn't be far, couldn't be far. She wouldn't leave him. She was just testing, seeing what she meant to him, how far he would look.

A hand found the butchered remote control in his pocket. She knew what would happen if she messed about: the car, the station, a house he was sure they'd be at, Sophie and himself would all be gone. All the people she loved would be gone because of her. They'd be on their way now to his old marital home, and he was sure LaMontagne and the child would be with them, unable to resist the temptation of trying to persuade her to come home with them. In one fell swoop they would be gone. He didn't doubt that his plan would work, that they might be somewhere else, because he knew luck was on his side. It had to be after all this time. It owed him.

...

The rain that had been incessant for the past few hours had stopped, making visibility clearer and walking easier. Llewellyn glanced up at the sky, a perfect blue slipping from in between the clouds. He felt a little strange, shiver kept creeping up his spine and outwards, even into his face. He had wondered if he'd trapped a nerve, or if it was something psychological. When he'd spoken to his girlfriend earlier he'd told her he loved her for the first time and then realised how weird he must have seemed.

He could see a glimpse of the outhouse in the distance, just past a thick clump of woodland that went on an acre or so to his right. Everything looked too still, too inanimate. The only thing that was moving was the sky, more accurately the clouds, the winds that were too high in the atmosphere to be felt were whipping the whites and greys about like soup in a blender.

Llewellyn didn't rush. He needed the time to assess what was happening there, if anything. After all, this might not be the place where JJ was, or Sophie. It could be somewhere else entirely.

The trees were on his right, evergreen needles all in place, awaiting the time of year when they would be celebrated, a pagan symbol adopted by another religion he didn't believe in. And then keen eyes caught sight of movement.

He froze, maintaining a stillness that only scared animals could achieve. Keeping his eyes fixed where he had noticed movement he began to define edges and lines that were familiar. Blonde hair and pale skin.

"Agent Jareau," he said, an undertone that would carry but wouldn't alarm. He didn't sense panic, nothing overt anyway, so he figured Dan Clark wasn't there. "Agent Jareau," he said again, taking a step towards her.

She was looking at him now, her mouth slightly agape. Then he noticed the small girl he'd seen in photos. She seemed more aware of him, her eyes shining, and she stepped towards him.

"He's back in the house, or around it somewhere," Sophie said, now next to him. "I heard his car a few minutes ago. JJ's in some pain – what shall we do? Do you have a car?"

"Miles away," he said quietly. "But the rest of her team are on their way. Do you know how to shoot?"

"I'm from South Dakota. What do you think?" she said, too sassily for someone of her age.

Llewellyn bent down to his ankle and looked up at her. "Ever fired a semi-automatic?"

"Probably. One of mom's boyfriends collected pistols. He used to take me out to shoot cans," she saw what he was taking out of his ankle holster. "Yep – I've used that before."

He gave it to her, then passed her his cell. "You have to stay here. Get yourself and JJ into a bush somewhere and hide. Turn the phone on silent and text Reid. A short text at first with where you are, then more information after that, the most relevant first. You got that?"

She nodded, and he noticed that JJ was sweating and looking too pale. She was in no fit state to do anything. "Shouldn't you stay with us?"

"Yes," Llewellyn said. "But I want to see where he is first. Then we know how to approach. What else do you need to tell me?" He knew there was something.

"He has a device on him for controlling explosives remotely," JJ said, her voice quiet. "He's threatened to use it. I suspect he will when he realises he won't get his way."

Llewellyn nodded. "We've cleared a bomb already from the vehicle Hotch and Prentiss were using, and we took a tracker out of Rossi's phone." She would know about that already, but it was as well to remind her, to reassure her. "Where might the others be?" He looked at Sophie rather than JJ; she seemed to have more to say.

"On himself," she said. "He'll have one on himself. And there's one in the house under where I slept. Then on this list he made there were plans to put one in a bull pen somewhere – but it was general, no name. And another on a road that was the name of a flower – Lobelia, I think."

"Okay," he said with a brief nod. "Get hidden. Do not show yourselves until I tell you to, even when I come back. If he sees me, he may well follow. I've no doubt he'll know who I am."

"You should wait here," JJ said. "You need back up."

"I'm not going to do anything rash, I just want to get more information."

He walked away, a strange sense of calm falling over him, and the woodland became a little lighter. He could see the clouds still moving overhead, pushed around by the winds they still couldn't feel.

Llewellyn had an idea of where the bombs would be. Clark would be planning on them entering the ex-wife's house, the police station and the house where he had been keeping JJ and Sophie. He had no intentions of surviving, Llewellyn had work that out already. Clark knew underneath everything that he was doomed, because that was what his life had always been like, and as soon as this wave of delusion was over, he'd be looking for the easiest way out, while causing the maximum amount of pain. Knowing where Clark was now, and keeping him pinned there, would benefit everyone, even if it meant a little bit of danger for himself.

...

Sophie heard footsteps she knew were not Llewellyn's. Her heart pounded, but she remained still, trying to keep calm. She peered out and saw him stood next to where JJ was hiding. He hadn't seen her because he wasn't looking for her; he still thought she was in the house.

"I've bought you a present, and _this_ is how you thank me?" he said, yanking her out of the bush with enough ferocity to make Sophie wince. "Get up and walk, else this," he pulled out the remote controlled type thing, "Will make sure your friends and that little girl in my house will be as good as dust."

JJ said nothing, just stood up weakly, and Sophie remained still, her hand wrapped around the gun and her intention to use it solid.


	49. Chapter Forty Eight

_Thank you to my new and old reviewers alike! This is a short chapter – deliberately so as the length worked best with the content. I hope you enjoy anyway!_

_Sarah x_

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"Perhaps they are not stars, but rather openings in heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through and shines down upon us to let us know they are happy."

**- Eskimo proverb**

**Chapter Forty-Eight**

**November 10****th**

Her hand shook. She was trying not to cry, knowing that the tears would blur her vision and impair any shot she might take, and she knew she only had one of those. If she missed, he would likely just press that button and blow him, JJ and God knew who else into the next life.

Right now, she wasn't close enough to be accurate. She couldn't get any closer because of the noise she made as she walked, a distance of about forty metres seemed the closest she could get before she could hear his feet and JJ's walking on the leaves, so she could assume he'd be able to hear hers too.

They were heading back to the house, and Sophie knew he would want to take JJ back inside, make her try on the gifts she had suggested. It was too dangerous with that bomb there. They would need to get JJ away from him somehow, unless she could shoot him first.

Her hand shook, and a tear spilt down her cheek.

...

"Shit."

Emily looked at Reid in the mirror. She didn't think she'd ever heard him swear before. He was looking at his phone in disbelief.

"What is it?" Hotch said.

"Clark has JJ. Sophie just sent a text. He doesn't know she's nearby though. She's following and she has Llewellyn's gun," Reid said. "How far are we?"

"Ten minutes," Emily said. "But I might be able to cut that down." She tapped the accelerator.

...

Llewellyn crouched down low in a shed filled with rotting leaves and garbage. The house was empty, he was sure of that. Clark's car was parked neatly next to it, a couple of boutique bags near the door where they looked like they'd been dropped. He was certain that Clark was around.

Then he saw them in the distance; Clark with JJ. He was using her as a shield, making a shot out of the question.

The strange sense of calm enveloped him again, and Llewellyn breathed deeply.

...

Emily pretty much abandoned the car, Rossi braking just before he hit them, such was his speed. She could see the house, still and pretty against the autumn back drop.

"Prentiss go with Rossi," Hotch said, gesturing to one side of the building. That meant he and Reid would take the other side.

"Sophie can see Llewellyn," Reid said, his phone in his hand. "She's too far away to shoot."

"For fuck's sake, she's sixteen," Rossi said. "I'm going to boil that bastard alive."

"Unless he does it first," Hotch said. "We just need to make sure JJ's out of the way, and we're not near the house when it goes. So keep a distance, stay in the trees rather than near the building."

"You think he will detonate?" Reid said, still watching his phone.

"Without question."

Hotch began to move, Reid behind him. Emily gave Rossi a nod and they left the cars, heading towards the sides of the house, and hopefully JJ and Sophie.

...

They had stopped walking. He was saying something that she had stopped listening to thirty seconds ago, recognising it as the musings of a madman. If she could get away from him she was pretty sure that someone would be able to get a shot as she was certain that the team were there now. Llewellyn was in the distance – she had glimpsed him already, and Sophie was behind them; she'd kept a safe distance and hadn't tried to be a hero. JJ hoped she could keep her cool enough to remain safe.

"You're not listening are you?" he said, sounding as if he was about to have a tantrum. JJ was tired, she was in no fit state to think clearly.

"I don't feel well," she said. "I have a water infection because I haven't had anything to drink for so long, and couldn't use a bathroom." She looked him in the eye and hoped he realised how much he had unintentionally hurt her. "Did you not read on my file that I was prone to them? If you had, you would have realised how much pain you were inflicting."

He didn't say anything and a look of sadness flickered across his face, but his grip released slightly and she pulled away, stumbling back.

...

Llewellyn saw her move away and stood up, his movement dragging Clark's attention over to him. JJ moved further away.

He saw Clark pull out the remote control for the explosives.

"Don't," Llewellyn said. "You do that, you end everything."

Clark shrugged. "It's over anyway isn't it? You've tainted her. You've stopped her from loving me."

Llewellyn saw his finger hover over a button and Clark glanced down.

He fired, at the same time as someone else, and as Clark toppled to the ground, he saw stars.


	50. Chapter Forty Nine

_Thank you for the reviews! Final chapter up Sunday! Please leave a line to let me know what you think._

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_And don't forget the HP C2, 'Hiding from Strauss'. We add stories to it on almost a daily basis, and are currently searching through the archives for those amazing HP fics, as well as adding new ones!_

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"There is a time for departure even when there's no certain place to go."

**- Tennessee Williams**

**Chapter Forty-Nine**

**November 10****th**

The floor was damp underneath him. Later he would wonder why that was his first realisation, coming to the conclusion that his mind had tried to protect himself by assessing the conditions instead of immediately thinking of Emily who was somewhere with Rossi.

Hotch pulled himself off the ground. "Reid," he said, noticing movement from a few feet away. The air was smoky, a spluttering cloud rising above them. They'd been far enough away from the house to avoid any serious injury – at least he and Reid had.

"Hotch," Reid said, coughing immediately. He was standing awkwardly and Hotch wondered if he'd been thrown with the force of the blast. "Fire service..."

"Will be on their way. You okay to move?"

Reid shook his head. "Shoulder... think it's dislocated. You go." He coughed violently.

Hotch nodded, he hated to leave Reid, but he had to press on and find the rest of his team and Sophie. The ambulances would be here soon, and he could already hear more vehicles in the distance.

"Aaron!"

He turned, seeing Emily.

"Thank God you're okay. It's clear – Clark's dead," Emily said, gesturing for him to come with her. "Rossi and I had just taken aim when Llewellyn and Sophie shot him down and he pressed the button. JJ's fine..."

He silenced her with a quick arm around her waist and a deep exhalation of breath. She was alive and fine, apart from a long scratch across her forehead, probably from some flying debris.

The land before them seemed empty, desolate. Everything was still, like actors on a stage that had been directed to pause. Sophie was sat with JJ, their arms around each other; Rossi was bend over Llewellyn, who was lying too flat on the ground near to the house that was now simmering on a low heat. Clark wasn't really there, the explosion his exit out of this life.

Red intermingled with the green between where Clark would have been stood and where Llewellyn was. Hotch stepped over to Rossi. "Is he..."

"We need medics," Rossi said, his fingers immersed in blood. "He's been thrown pretty bad by the explosion – I saw him go up like he was on a trampoline, and the glass that was thrown out from the windows..."

Footsteps banged on the ground; voices began to break the cloudy silence. Hotch backed away, realising that there was ringing in his ears from the explosion. He could see Emily with Sophie, the girl pulled into her chest. A medic was with JJ, supporting her while she walked.

"Sir."

Everything was confused, a blur. There was a sense of relief hovering, and Hotch sank down to his knees.

"Sir."

The ground was still damp.

"Sir."

Hotch looked up, the voice finally acknowledged. "Sorry," he said.

"We need to get you checked out."

He followed the medic away from what was left of Dan Clark, noticing that the bomb techs had arrived, their equipment on, faces covered.

"Hotch," one of them called. He looked at them. "We got the other house in time. And the bull pen at the station."

Hotch nodded, seeing that Reid was being attended to, and noticed a couple of paper bags from some women's shops sitting stagnant on the ground, undamaged.

Everyone was kind of okay. He could relax. Maybe.

...

Rossi stood back as they loaded Llewellyn onto the stretcher. He was unconscious, still, too still. Rossi knew it wasn't good, not that being almost blown to pieces could ever be good.

"Do you need any assistance?" a medic asked him.

Rossi shook his head. "I'll ride with Agent Llewellyn if that's okay. I guess we're done here."

The medic nodded her head. "This may not have a happy ending," she said as her colleagues began to put Llewellyn into the back of the ambulance that had just arrived in the middle of the field.

"Sometimes these things don't," Rossi said. He saw JJ looking crumpled, and IV line being fixed up. He wondered if anyone had phoned Will, and figured that Reid probably had.

The ambulance smelled the same as every other one he'd been in, the atmosphere the same as at every other crime scene that hadn't been entirely successful. He glanced up at the sky, the fast moving clouds carried by a wind he couldn't feel, and some sense of relief fell down on him. It was over. They would be able to go home.

...

Emily watched Sophie being treated for her cuts, a couple of which had gotten infected. Sophie screwed up her face as they were being cleaned and almost growled when stitches were mentioned.

"I don't need to stay in overnight, do I?" Sophie said, looking more at Emily than at the medic who had decided that sitting in the back of the ambulance was necessary, even though Sophie hadn't shown much in the way of physical injury.

"That's up to the doctor," Emily said. She'd spoken to Sophie's mom who was faxing a note over to the hospital where they were heading, to say that Emily had the right to act in loco parentis in her absence.

"I have no broken bones. I _might_ have a concussion, but it can't be that bad because I haven't thrown up and I really, _really_ don't want to stay somewhere on my own again tonight," Sophie said, looking from Emily to the nurse.

"Sophie," Emily said. "If the doctor doesn't say that it's essential that you stay in, you can come back and stay with me. God knows we have enough rooms. _If_ the doctor says."

Sophie nodded, looking out of the window. She was thinner; had probably been undernourished, and some of the cuts from the window escapade looked nasty. But she was in good spirits, her resilient nature her guardian angel. "The sky's moving quicker than we are," she said, her head tilted upwards. "That sky will always remind me of this day. How's the agent who gave me his gun?"

"Agent Llewellyn?" Emily said. "I don't know. He got caught in the explosion."

Sophie lost her smile. "I told him to stay with us," she said. "But he wanted to make sure everything was safe for you and the rest of the team."

"I guess he did. And you shot Dan Clark at the same time."

Sophie nodded. "It was the first time I could. I followed him and JJ through the woods, but I couldn't get close enough to be sure it would be him I'd be hitting, or he had JJ in the way."

"It was on target as well."

There was no smile. "I had to pretend he was a can. That's the only thing I've ever shot before."

"I doubt it'll stay that way," Emily said. It seemed Sophie's future was mapped out for her; her toughness, spirit, quick thinking and now aim gave her the right ingredients to be a FBI agent as and when she wished, age dependant. But there was time for that conversation later. Maybe a few years later.

"I know." It was a sad acceptance in her voice. "Let's talk about something else. How are you and Hotch?"

Emily raised her eyebrows. "You sure you don't want to stay in that hospital tonight?"

Sophie smiled, looking out again at the sky.

...

The safe house felt safer now.

Reid sat on a cushioned window seat, looking out into the night and the darkness that surrounded them. Soon, everyone apart from JJ, Will and Henry would be back for one last night together before they could all go home and have their two week vacation.

"Will's just called," Morgan said, putting his head round the door into the snug. "JJ's comfortable and settled for the night. She's asked if you'll go visit tomorrow."

Reid nodded. "Sure. What time are visiting hours?"

"Any time you want for the boy genius," Morgan said, entering fully. "Hotch and Emily have just got here. They're taking Sophie to one of the spare rooms – the doctor discharged her into Emily's care – and Rossi's driving back by himself via a take out. Llewellyn's in surgery; his girlfriend and his mother are there, so Rossi thinks it's best to leave them. It's not looking good."

They were silent for a moment. It could have been any of them, or none of them, and they would have lost JJ, or Sophie or both.

"You want a beer?" Morgan said, breaking the surface of the water, whose depth they didn't want to delve into with each other.

"I don't think you've asked if I've ever wanted a beer before, Derek," Reid said, glad there was something else to talk about. "And no, I think I'll have a glass of Rossi's wine instead."

"Whatever you want," Morgan said, leaving him be.

Reid continued to stare out at the night sky, seeing the stars and able to lose himself in their identification for the first time in what seemed like weeks.

"Reid?"

He jumped, startled, and saw Hotch and Emily, both dressed in FBI t-shirts and jogging bottoms. He would have laughed at their similarity, but decided that it was inappropriate, what with Hotch being his superior.

"Sorry – I didn't realise you were there," he said.

"How's your shoulder?" Emily asked.

Reid shrugged, a spark of pain still there. "Uncomfortable, but then it has been dislocated, so it's not going to be exactly fine straight away. How's Sophie?"

"Asleep, and I suspect she'll stay like that for a good few hours. She ate at the hospital and fell asleep in the car on the way back. I think she sleepwalked into here, managed to get excited when I gave her an FBI t-shirt to wear for bed, and then collapsed on top of the blankets and had to be folded in," Emily said, rolling her eyes. "Rossi's here with the food. I suggest you come get something before Kevin and Morgan devour it all."

Reid stood up and followed, noticing Hotch lightly brushing Emily's arm with his hand in a soft gesture. He smiled at the sight, managing to avoid commenting on it.

Morgan was taking the lids off the take out containers while Rossi was doling out plates and bowls. It looked to be enough to feed the five thousand, and not just seven bureau employees, but Reid figured a lot would be used up for breakfast tomorrow and Morgan's midnight snack.

Garcia and Lynch were bickering over what ingredients went in a Sex on the Beach cocktail, and Reid decided not to correct them, as it would only result in Morgan teasing him about never having had sex on the beach in any format. He sat down at the table, his shoulder aching more prominently, but he still refused to take any painkillers. Hopefully a glass or two of Rossi's wine would do the job.

The atmosphere was muted rather than overtly worried or relieved. There would be a lot to discuss, but now wasn't the time for any in depth analysis on what had happened. They were all too tired, exhausted, emotionally drained. They needed rest and relaxation. And some time apart, or maybe together in Hotch and Emily's case.

"I heard from Mrs Fletcher a few minutes ago about Alfie," Hotch said as dim sums were passed around. "He's out of danger and should make a good recovery."

"That's one piece of good news," Rossi said. "Another is that I'm intending to go to Calverville Point in three days, so I'll happily escort Sophie home and keep an eye on her for a week or so. If I don't go, Jolene will hunt me down and use my head in a stew."

There was quiet laughter, a small break in the fragile tension.

"That's good," Emily said. "Not that your head won't be in a stew – I'd quite happily prepare the vegetables to be served with it sometimes – but that you can take Soph back. I've promised her she can have a couple of days with me, but then she needs to get back to school and to her routine."

"How about I show her round the academy?" Reid said. He liked Sophie very much, and the esteem he held her in was growing higher after everything she had coped with.

Emily nodded. "That would be great, Reid. I've also promised to take her shopping and out for a meal or two, and Hotch has said he'll take her to the firing range, although we figure she's already better than him, but it would be good for her to have someone closer to her own age for company."

"Then she can have the diametrically opposite on the way home," Morgan said, eyeing Rossi. "She can keep an eye on Grandpa during the flight."

Everyone looked to Rossi, who merely tapped the bottom of his fork on the table a few times and raised an eyebrow at Morgan. "Careful," he said, before scooping up some noodles in his mouth, saying nothing else, although everyone knew they'd be the equivalent of a horse's head on Morgan's desk at some point in the future as revenge.

"Anyone know how Martha Moore's doing?" Reid said, eating a slice of prawn toast that tasted particularly fishy.

There was a brief murmur round the table, which Reid knew he could assume to be a no.

"I read on a file I probably shouldn't have been checking that she's been being assessed by a psychiatrist," Lynch said. "That will slow things down, won't it?"

Hotch shrugged, and Reid felt a little envious of the movement. "It depends. She'll have to have a guilty plea. I expect we'll interview her again in a few months to gain greater perspective on the reasons behind what she did, but until then it's no longer our problem, with the exception of the paperwork."

Shoulders collectively relaxed around the table. It was only just beginning to sink in that it was finally over. They had both UnSubs and tomorrow could go home. Then they'd be a day or so of interviews and enquiries and paperwork, and then it would be vacation time. Reid knew where he should go, but he wasn't sure he was up to it. Still, he needed to get away for a few days at least, and he could always book into somewhere that had a chess tournament nearby.

He wanted some chance to collect his thoughts on Dan Clark as well. There would be lot of future discussion around him, and Reid had no doubt that

"It seems strange that it's all over," Emily said. "This will be the first decent night's sleep I've had in too long." She punctuated her sentence with a deep sigh. "In fact, I could probably fall asleep here right now."

"If you do, I'll eat your share of the chow mein for you," Morgan said, already starting on a second plate of starters.

"No chance," Emily said, staring at Rossi as he started to vibrate weirdly.

"Oh," Rossi said, taking his cell phone out of his shirt pocket. "It's the hospital." He stood up and moved out of the room, returning less than a minute later, his face relaxed and eyes brighter. "Llewellyn's pulled through the operation. It's still touch and go, but if he gets through the next twenty four hours he's got an excellent chance."

Reid felt the fog around the table clear, and Garcia's hair suddenly seemed a lot brighter. "I think that deserves a toast," he said, holding up his glass. "To Llewellyn."

"To Llewellyn," echoed around the table, glasses chinking like notes on a xylophone.

Reid sat back and allowed a smile to form. They'd survived. Only just this time, but they'd survived. Just like they'd always done in the past, and like they would continue to do in the future.


	51. Chapter Fifty

_Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed this story! The mini follow up will be called __**Tread Softly**__ and I'm hoping to post the first chapter next Sunday - there's summary at the end of this last chapter! _

_And so it ends..._

**Where the Blue of the Night**

"It is a curious emotion, this certain homesickness I have in mind. With Americans, it is a national trait, as native to us as the roller-coaster or the jukebox. It is no simple longing for the home town or country of our birth. The emotion is Janus-faced: we are torn between a nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange. As often as not, we are homesick most for the places we have never known."

**- Carson McCullers**

**Chapter Fifty**

**November 14****th**

If confidence had an impact on size, Rossi was certain Sophie should have been about six and a half feet tall. He glance at her, looking through the in flight magazine, studying the map of America, and considered what she could become. She was pretty, clever, resourceful and completely unaware of it, which was no bad thing. She'd also spent the last three days terrorising the Academy, which again, was no bad thing either. They needed terrorising by something that didn't want to bomb them once in a while.

"You want a drink?" Rossi said. "I could do with a coffee."

She put the magazine down and stretched out her legs, giving him a smile that she was clearly trying to stop from being too broad. "I've never flown first class before," she said. "Don't suppose I ever will again, so I'll have as much coffee as I can."

"Let's make it decaff then," he said, trying not to smile himself. He pressed the button to call the attendant. "I believe you went to the firing range with Hotch this morning?"

She nodded, looking pleased with herself. There were no apparent after affects from her few days n captivity, except for the deep cuts that were slowly healing down the side of her face and on her arms. "Reid was there," she said, the smile becoming deeply mischievous. "We had a competition."

"Really?" Rossi said, not knowing if he should ask for more details as the temptation to torture Reid would be too great. "And you found out how good you really were, I take it?"

Sophie shrugged. "I couldn't get anywhere near the shots Hotch was taking. Still, I had fun."

Rossi wondered whether she knew about Hotch's background in SWAT, and if she actually realised how good Hotch actually was, but decided not to go down that route. "That's all that matters," he said, letting some sleeping dogs lie. "How was Jolene before you left?"

Sophie smiled again. "Missing you, I think, and pretending that she didn't. Jolene is not the world's greatest actress. She gave me a job waiting tables at the weekend. I hope she doesn't fire me because I've been away for so long."

"I doubt it," Rossi said. "Don't let her know, but she really is as soft as feathers. Besides, you'll bring in extra custom. Loads of people will want to see the waitress who's helped the FBI yet again."

Sophie pulled a face, almost scaring the flight attendant who was now at their seats. "Can I get you something, sir?" she said.

"Two coffees, one decaff, one Irish," Rossi said. "The decaff is for the lady." He gestured to Sophie. "Do you want something to eat?"

She glanced from Rossi to the flight attendant. "I'd love a club sandwich, if that's okay?"

The attendant nodded and smiled. "And you sir?"

"I'll have the same."

"The same as your granddaughter. I'll have your drinks here in a minute; the food will be a little longer," she shot them another smile and left Rossi feeling a little bewildered, listening to Sophie's smothered laughter.

"I think she just wanted to reassure herself that I wasn't your girlfriend," Sophie said, laughing again. "I take it that's something you don't want me to tell Emily when she asks about my flight?"

He glared over at her. "Not if you want more shooting lessons when we get to Calverville."

She smiled. "I'll keep it a secret then. More shooting lessons? Really?"

Rossi nodded. "Given the talent you seem to have for getting into trouble, I think it would as well for you to be as good a shot as Hotch." He didn't smile back, but his eyes were dancing, although he did wonder what he was getting himself into.

...

The bar was quiet, as he knew it would be. There were only two other couples and a group of three women there, any conversation hidden behind the low, soft music that was being played. Morgan toyed with his drink, a tomato juice with a kick, and glanced up at the door as Jacey entered. She was dressed for work still, and clearly hadn't been home yet. Her hair was mussed, and she looked harassed.

"Derek," she said, sitting down. "I haven't got long, I'm afraid. I have an arrangement at eight and I need to go back to the apartment and change." By arrangement he knew she meant date.

"Sure," he said. "It's good to see you anyway."

She smiled but it seemed forced, and he knew she didn't really want to be there.

"Have you met someone?" he said, not sure how he would feel about the answer.

She shrugged. "I've been seeing him casually for a while, but since I hadn't heard from you for a couple of weeks, I let it get more serious. I should have told you."

"This isn't a booty call, Jacey," Morgan said. "I just wanted to see how you were, and apologise for not being in touch."

Jacey nodded, and this time her smile seemed more genuine. "That's nice, Derek. How are you? I assume you've been away with work?"

He looked at the table rather than her, thinking of Utah. "Yeah. It's been a busy few weeks. Can I buy you a drink?"

She glanced at her watch and shook her head. "Maybe another time, but I really have to get going. We have a reservation at eight."

Morgan stood up as she did. "I hope you have a good evening," he said, briefly touching the side of her arm. There would be no kiss, no flirtation. She would leave and that would be it, a chapter of his life well and truly over.

"Take care, Derek," she said, turning and leaving, without a second glance back.

He sat back down, picking up his glass and swirling the viscous liquid in it.

"Hey," a voice came from behind him. He turned around and saw a tall blonde woman who he recognised from somewhere familiar. "I'm Joy Belvoir. I've just started in counter-terrorism; transferred from New York."

He offered his hand. "I'm Derek Morgan. BAU. How you finding it?"

She smiled, moving round the table and sitting down. "Lonely, exciting, a challenge. You want another drink?"

He smiled, not his full on beam, but a smile that was real. He had no intentions here. "I'll get these. What are you having?"

...

"A bit lower. No, higher. That's it, just there."

Garcia sighed as Kevin kneaded the knot that had built up in her shoulders. It was quiet, oh so very quiet, and she was enjoy every moment of peace. Their mobiles were switched off, the computers were disconnected from anything to do with bad things, and they had no car, so were therefore stranded until someone from the Bureau came to pick them up in about four days time.

"I hope I'm going to get my knots relieved," Kevin said, his fingers trickling over her shoulders like ambrosia.

"It depends where they are, sugar," she said, forcing herself to sit up. "I think I'm hungry. How much of Rossi's wine's left?"

"Hunger and Rossi's wine aren't really connected, babe," Kevin said, stretching next to her. "I'll have a look and see what's in." He gave her a kiss, then left the room, leaving her smiling.

It had been three days since everyone had left. JJ was now back home on a heavy dose of medication, Agent Llewellyn was out of the ICU, and she and Kevin had been left to their own sweet devices in the safe house, after putting a request into Strauss. Surprisingly, she'd made arrangements for them to stay there a little longer, keeping it occupied while the security around it was checked for any breeches.

Garcia flopped back down on the sofa, closing her eyes. The day had been spent walking around the woodland surrounding the house, then enjoying the facilities that had seemed unimportant while they had been contained there. She was happy. Her team were all doing what they did to relax; everyone was well, or getting there at least, and she didn't have to look up any more evil people for at least a fortnight, potentially more. And Strauss had been nice to her. Mainly because she'd asked Garcia to put a track on her daughter's financial movements, something Garcia had been a little bit objectionable about, until Strauss had explained that she was worried her daughter had gotten mixed up with a man who was bad news and just wanted to check she was okay. Then Garcia had agreed, making sure she knew a little bit more than what Strauss had asked for, so she knew the girl really was alright.

"We have wine, cheese and I found pizza and dough balls, all of which are now being cooked, except for the wine of course, which is here," Kevin said, whipping a bottle of Rossi's finest and two glasses from behind his back. "Then after we've eaten, I suggest we head off for a short evening stroll before you can repay my massaging efforts in any way you deem fit." He put the glasses on the coffee table and sat down, taking the cork out of the bottle.

Garcia smiled lazily. "What do you think everyone's doing right now?" she said, picturing their faces. "I think Rossi will be slow dancing with Jolene back in Calverville, while a pot roast cooks on the stove."

Kevin shook his head. "I think he'll be sat at the bar, telling stories to a captive audience. He'll be on his fourth or fifth whisky by now, and in his element."

"I'd prefer to think of him slow dancing with Jolene. Maybe we should cook a pot roast tomorrow. What about Derek?" She saved her pet names for Morgan for when Kevin wasn't around.

"Now I can imagine him slow dancing, I don't particularly want to, but I can. He'll be telling tales about his war wounds too, and some lady will be lapping it up," Kevin said, pouring the wine.

"I hope so. He's been out of sorts. He needs to get his mojo back; find himself a nice lady and share the goodness... and I'll stop there. Right there," she said, applying her worried face. "The boss man and wonder woman. What are they up to right now?"

"Things I'd probably rather not imagine," Kevin said, taking a large drink of wine.

"I think they'll be having a long, intellectual discussion before he sweeps her off her feet and takes her to some swanky restaurant, where he'll feed her caviar and strawberries – but not together," Garcia said, smiling at the image.

Kevin gave her a strange look. "I think I'll go check on the pizza." She heard him mumbling something about it being far less messy than caviar. Sometimes he had such a complex.

Garcia pulled herself off the sofa and walked over to the window, looking out towards the woodlands. The branches swayed serenely, a final dance of the day, and she closed the curtain. The smell of pizza drew her to the kitchen, and to Kevin, where they would have their own slow dance, even if they didn't have any music.

...

The chair where she had sat with Henry when he was the smallest of babies gave her the most comfort. From there she could watch him in his cot, sleeping peacefully in a room that still smelt of baby, more specifically Henry.

"You okay, cher?"

JJ looked up, smiling softly at Will. "I'm fine. Just watching Henry," she said.

"You sure that's all? You're not thinking about everything that happened?"

"It's kind of impossible not to."

Will sat down on the chase lounge that had been passed through his family since time began, apparently. "He's dead, JJ, and he's not going to be bothering you or us, or the rest of the team again, unless you let him."

"I know," she said. "I'm not worried, and I've stopped feeling guilty. I know I didn't do anything to encourage him. God knows I've told enough other victims of stalking the same thing, but I have to process what happened otherwise it will become nightmares."

He nodded, understanding. This was why people in law enforcement often got together with other people in law enforcement; they comprehended the emotions and dealt with them in a similar way. "What else is it?" Will said.

JJ smiled. He knew her too well. "Martha Moore," she said. "Her life. What she did was horrific, but there was a reason behind it. You can kind of understand what drove her towards her actions." She looked at Henry, fast asleep, peaceful. He hadn't understood anything that had been going on, and for that she was thankful.

"People deal with things in different ways," Will said. "And we can't always predict what our reactions will be."

He smiled, and she wasn't sure why. She looked at him questioningly. "You're home," he said. "There was a time when there was a chance you might not be, but you're back and safe, and right now, Jayje, that's all that matters."

She saw the sincerity on his face, and echoes of the pain she knew had been there; there was no need for him to hold her or touch her right now, no need for physical contact, being in that room together was enough.

"I've made pie," he said. "Cherry pie. And there's jambalaya first."

Her stomach rumbled and she smiled at him, the corners of her mouth touching almost her ears. "I've been up here a while, haven't I?"

He nodded. "So I think it's time you came downstairs and we toasted you being home, us being home."

She stood up, her body aching only slightly now. "How much pie am I allowed?"

"As much as you want as long as you eat your dinner."

She laughed, the sounds of bells peeling in Henry's dreams.

...

If Reid hated flying on the jet, he hated flying with the public even more. The waiting was the worst part; having to sit in an area with too many other people, all fighting to get to places first, when there really was no rush and several sets of statistics that they really should be more aware of.

He was sitting at a bar in the lounge reserved for those flying business class or above, having decided that paying the extra was worth it if this were to be the few hours before he died. His poison of choice was orange juice and lemonade, the sugar settling his nerves.

A woman of about his age was nearby, hovering over a newspaper, studying the crossword. She looked puzzled and was mouthing a clue to herself.

"The answer's 'all at sea'," he said without thinking.

"I thought it might be," she said. "But that seemed too obvious."

"Sometimes that's what's difficult – you think it can't possibly be the answer because it's too easy, but it is. It's why I gave up doing them," he said, happy he'd found some way to pass a few minutes, even if Morgan would think he was a geek for talking about crosswords with a pretty girl. But Morgan thought he was a geek anyway, and she was... pretty.

"So what do you do now?" she said.

"I make them up. It's not that difficult," he stopped himself from explaining how. "I'm Spencer, by the way."

"I'm Claire. It's nice to meet you. Are you travelling alone?"

He nodded. "Yeah," he stopped himself before he could tell her the percentage of people that flew alone each day. "I'm heading to Vegas."

"To get married?"

He thought she was joking; the timbre of her voice suggested she was so he laughed lightly. "To see my mother, and have a few days break. It's been a busy few weeks. You?"

Claire smiled. "Vegas too. To see my father. He's a detective down there. He got injured in a raid recently."

"It wasn't the one last Thursday, was it?"

"Yeah. How did you know?"

He smiled awkwardly. She would now find his inner geek. Or maybe not so inner. "I'm a federal agent – I like to keep track of what's going on." He tried to hide his awkwardness but knew he wasn't doing a very good job.

"Can I get you a drink?" Claire said. "Then maybe we could go sit over at a table and you can help me with the rest of my crossword?"

"I'll get the drinks," Reid said. "And I'd love to help – although you look like you were doing just fine." He glanced at the crossword again. "The answer to three down is inebriated. What drink would you like?" He looked back up at her. Maybe this flight wouldn't be so bad after all.

...

Time hadn't stood still. She hadn't mistaken where the hands on her watch were either. Which meant he was late. Late, or she had been stood up. Emily ran her fingers up and down the glass, wiping off the condensation that had grown in the past few minutes since the lemonade had started to warm to room temperature.

"It's not like Aaron to be late," Kasem said, looking at her worriedly. "Has he called you?"

"No," she said. "Maybe he's forgotten, or something's come up with Jack." She knew that was unlikely, given that Jack was out of state with Haley. _Or maybe he's just seen sense_, she thought. She didn't really believe that though, not after the past few days. They'd spent time together, and with Sophie. It had been kind of perfect, so she'd thought, and now Sophie had gone back home she was looking forward to spending some alone time with Hotch. They were going to talk about taking a vacation tonight, a few days away somewhere. Somewhere they'd never had a case.

Unless he'd got cold feet.

Emily turned away from the window and studied the menu. She was hungry, and the smell of Thai food was always appealing. "I'll give him five more minutes and then I'll..."

"You'll what, Agent Prentiss?" The bell on the door chimed at the same time the words were said.

"Aaron," Emily said, turning around to see him. "I was beginning to wonder..."

He sat down looking somewhat perturbed. "I'm sorry, I'm late and I didn't call as I just wanted to get here quickly. But I received an email just as I was about to leave." He sighed, looking for Kasem. "Can I have a fresh orange, please?"

Kasem nodded, then left them to it. Emily leaned forward across the table. Hotch generally engaged in conversation with Kasem once he arrived; something important must have happened for him not to do so now.

"I have a second cousin who lives in Ireland, or had, I should say. His lawyer's been trying to contact me for the past week and was eventually given my old email address. I fished out his email from my spam as I was about to leave. My second cousin, who is a few years older than me, died two weeks ago, leaving me his estate and a lot of sorting out to do," Hotch said, his expression as intense as when they were in the midst of a case.

Emily felt a wave of disappointment as she realised any proposed vacation would now remain a mere dream.

"So," Hotch said. "How would you like a trip to Ireland?"

...

_**Tread Softly**__ – Hotch and Prentiss head to Ireland to organise the estate of Hotch's deceased distant cousin. A relaxing break becomes anything but as murder is committed in the very hotel in which they're staying. Myth and legend hamper the truth from being discovered. HP centred, with cameos from other team members._


End file.
